


Joy & Heartache

by SourisSouris



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: Aging, F/M, Friendship/Love, Love, Pre-X-Files Revival, Reunion, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Soulmates, The X-Files References, The X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 51
Words: 58,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SourisSouris/pseuds/SourisSouris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a very random glimpse of wishful thinking inspired by the TXF revival events, specifically this :)<br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgEN1t4jPRE</p><p>Also (yadayadayada - you know the drill ;))<br/>***The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons, places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Diamonds & Rust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaneDoe1988](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDoe1988/gifts).



> Well I'll be damned  
> Here comes your ghost again  
> But that's not unusual  
> It's just that the moon is full  
> And you happened to call  
> And here I sit  
> Hand on the telephone  
> Hearing a voice I'd known  
> A couple of light years ago  
> Heading straight for a fall
> 
> As I remember your eyes  
> Were bluer than robin's eggs  
> My poetry was lousy you said  
> Where are you calling from?  
> A booth in the midwest  
> Ten years ago  
> I bought you some cufflinks  
> You brought me something  
> We both know what memories can bring  
> They bring diamonds and rust
> 
> Well you burst on the scene  
> Already a legend  
> The unwashed phenomenon  
> The original vagabond  
> You strayed into my arms  
> And there you stayed  
> Temporarily lost at sea  
> The Madonna was yours for free  
> Yes the girl on the half-shell  
> Would keep you unharmed
> 
> Now I see you standing  
> With brown leaves falling around  
> And snow in your hair  
> Now you're smiling out the window  
> Of that crummy hotel  
> Over Washington Square  
> Our breath comes out white clouds  
> Mingles and hangs in the air  
> Speaking strictly for me  
> We both could have died then and there
> 
> Now you're telling me  
> You're not nostalgic  
> Then give me another word for it  
> You who are so good with words  
> And at keeping things vague  
> Because I need some of that vagueness now  
> It's all come back too clearly  
> Yes I loved you dearly  
> And if you're offering me diamonds and rust  
> I've already paid 
> 
> Joan Baez ~ Diamonds & Rust  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ST9TZBb9v8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and looking at you now
> 
> After all that we’ve been through
> 
> It’s joy and heartache...
> 
> ***

So much has changed in 7 years…

Her body was suddenly soft and languid, her eyelids heavy as well as her breasts, reminders of her two baby boys...

It took him a while to realize that his breath got caught in his throat as he stood there, staring at her making her way through the lobby, as tiny as ever in her skimpy flowery sundress and a light silk blouse, once again amazed at how much presence such a small person could have… There was a certain glow about her that he had almost forgotten all about – until he saw it again just now.

She was not wearing sunglasses, a sight unseen here in Cali, not to mention the fact that she was most likely not wearing any bra, either.

Their eyes meet – hers silvery grey with deep blue sparkles of the laughter that he remembered so well he could almost hear her giggle, his hazel with little speckles of brown, grey and yellow, his eyelids slanted, fans of wrinkles deepening with a smile. He finally exhales, feeling his heart come back to life again, pumping blood to his face and making it flush... A mixture of immense pleasure and heartache washes over him in an istant.

Seeing her is such joy, always – and yet, there is a pang of pain, or rather ache, not really sharp anymore, but tight, gripping at his heart for years now...

And then she’s in his arms, hers flung over his head and around his neck, holding on to him for all the years that have separated them, her soft wet lips touching his neck as she whispers his name – „ _David_..." – the rush of blood in his temples and ears is almost unbearable, not to mention the blood rushing to his groin. _Damnit._ The fabric of her dress is so thin and she’s wearing nothing underneath, he notices as her breasts press against his chest – heavy and soft, much fuller than he remembers and so damn hot...

His arms hang helplessly to his sides, paralyzed for a second or two, before he finally gets a grip of himself and instinctively pulls her into him, his hands on the small of her back, realizing to his utter delight that he can actually feel her bare skin underneath her blouse – the warmth of it vividly and painfully remembered in the deepest corners of his mind, the oldest parts of his brain, the primitive, animalistic ones, where emotions and smells are stored – the scent of her hair filling his senses, fresh and flowery, the scent of her skin intoxicating, undescribable, speaking to something deep and old and primal inside of him...

They’re hugging for a while, clinging to each other, both relaxing gradually as they realize with relief and amazement that they still so naturally fit into each other’s form, completing the other in ways they didn’t know they were missing... His hands finally come alive, stroking the silk of her back and sliding down her sides, re-committing to memory the subtle form that he used to know by heart – that his heart still knows... His mind is registering the slight changes – the softness around her hips, the reminder of her babies, another stab at his heart...

Suddenly he can feel his eyes getting wet, an inexplicable sadness taking a hold of him. **_Tears_ ** – something he hadn’t felt for years or didn’t allow himself to feel, rolling down his face...

As if in sync, her frail form shivers slightly in his strong embrace and he lets go, reluctantly, to finally look into her face – to confirm his suspicion – a single tear forming in the corner of her eye and sliding down her cheek as she looks up to him – way up, as their height difference is one of the things that have never changed and not even her 5-inch heels can make much of a difference in the foot that still separates them...

But there is so much more separating them than that...

So much has changed in the 7 years...

And yet...


	2. Like A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We are somehow joined, at some significant level, for ever, for as long as we are alive, not just in the public’s mind but our own. To have worked so long together at that intensity, to have gone through so many huge changes in our personal, professional and public lives, means that we have a very deep bond. We have never had a friendship of like minds, but we are soulmates in some senses. I love her and I think she loves me, but we do not have a huge interest in each other as people outside of this work connection...”
> 
> ~ David Duchovny for UK Times, 2003
> 
> “Our relationship has definitely become a proper friendship over the last few years. I think we’re more on each other’s side. We’re more aware of the other’s needs, wants, concerns, and mindful to take those into consideration – and just sharing more about our experiences in the moment, under the sudden realization that we’re both in this together.” 
> 
> ~ Gillian Anderson for Variety, January 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't bother saying you're sorry / Why don't you come in  
> Smoke all my cigarettes again...  
> Every time I get no further / How long has it been  
> Come on in now, wipe your feet on my dreams  
> You take up my time / Like some cheap magazine  
> When I could have been learning something  
> Oh well, you know what I mean  
> I've done this before / And I will do it again  
> Come on and kill me baby / While you smile like a friend  
> Oh and I'll come running / Just to do it again...
> 
> Pulp ~ Like A Friend  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyG66VMcl28

**_"I was under the impression that you guys like didn’t like each other...”_ **

_~ Jimmy Kimmel , January 2016_

Still laughing, they say their goodbyes in the darkened hallway of the studios, both of them too high on the events of the day, the shared experience and each other to quite realize that this was it – it was way past midnight and they both knew damn well that they really should be in bed by now if they wanted to look presentable the next day. Yes, “at their age” it was becoming more and more of a f*cking effort...

But something made them stall... Lingering in the corridor, suddenly aware of each other’s flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes – a sensation not entirely new, and yet, somehow bringing a new current, an unexpected change of tide... They didn’t say anything, but allowed themselves a brief kiss, perfectly innocent, eliciting another fit of giggles out of her ( _my G*d, was she really high_ , they both wondered) – she was happy, just simply happy, relaxed, enjoying the moment for what it was, without having to think of tomorrow, of the consequences, of anything but herself, really, and she had not felt like that in so long... she couldn’t even think of how long...

He could feel the waves of her laughter echo through him as he held her close and then the jolt of child-like excitement of “doing something they were not supposed to”, though they were both responsible adults who just happened to have known each other for over two decades and finally got to hang out and simply enjoy each other’s presence after such a long time...

She could feel her breath quicken as he let his lips linger, his full luscious lips that a couple of light years ago she must have touched and kissed so many times, yet strangely she seems to have forgotten all about that, so the sensation still caught her by surprise when she parted her own lips to take his bottom one between them, suddenly overwhelmed by curiosity, wondering what he would feel and taste like, if it would be anything like she imagined all those years ago, when she first saw him, when their looks first met, when she found herself pulled into the depths of his hazel stare and unable to resist... whatever happened to that girl? Her eyes fly up to his now to see them close with a flutter, his amazingly long eyelashes casting a perfect shadow on his sun-kissed skin...

She gasped, closing her own eyes and feeling herself drift away... as out of nowhere someone breezed just past them rudely, ushering them out of the building and towards their cars, their drivers waiting to take them to their respective homes for the night.

 


	3. Everybody Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...But then absurdity came over me and I longed to lose control...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody knows that you love me baby  
> Everybody knows that you really do  
> Everybody knows that you've been faithful  
> Ah give or take a night or two  
> Everybody knows you've been discreet  
> But there were so many people you just had to meet  
> Without your clothes  
> And everybody knows  
> That's how it goes  
> Everybody knows 
> 
> And everybody knows that it's now or never  
> Everybody knows that it's me or you  
> And everybody knows that you live forever  
> Ah when you've done a line or two  
> Everybody knows the scene is dead  
> But there's gonna be a meter on your bed  
> That will disclose  
> What everybody knows 
> 
> And everybody knows that you're in trouble  
> Everybody knows what you've been through  
> From the bloody cross on top of Calvary  
> To the beach of Malibu  
> Everybody knows it's coming apart  
> Take one last look at this Sacred Heart  
> Before it blows  
> And everybody knows 
> 
> Leonard Cohen ~ Everybody Knows  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lin-a2lTelg

He’s feeling helpless, stupid and annoyed, being ushered to his car like that, through the backdoor, to avoid any unnecessary attention – though it is late, New York never sleeps – that’s what he’s always loved about it... Even now, close to 1am, the streets are humming with life, every person carrying a story, something he’s always found so appealing, his inner writer, his one true, organic part, always attracted to a good story, one behind those eyes or that smile... He would carry a Moleskin notebook and a pen in his coat pocket, or the back pocket of his jeans to jot down notes between takes, between footsteps, on the subway or on one of these damn car rides...

The night is dark and suddenly cold, the kind that makes you see your own breath, and he can feel a shiver run down his spine as he mindlessly gets into the waiting car, once again turning over his shoulder to look at her, _for_ her, _her eyes – gone_ – the loss of her nearness tangible, palpable... * _damnit_ *

All at once it’s like an out-of-body experience – he’s watching himself leave, his eyes following her, like a brush painting lines around her body, the perfect curve of her back, her tiny waist pinched in her red cashmere coat hugging her swaying hips, noticing how much wider they got with her giving birth to her three children and finding it extremely attractive. She has definitely grown into a _woman_ now – despite her child-like outbursts of laughter, her silliness and her baby hands, she _was_ a woman. Now. And he’s wondering _when_ and _how_ that happened, letting his mind roam...

\---

He remembers with astonishing clarity that one dreary night in late February when she came knocking on the door of his trailer – it was late, they both had had a really long shitty day and once again they had to take way too many breaks, because she was still feeling under the weather and couldn’t keep it together and he felt himself growing really annoyed and pissy about it, so eventually it was determined that they would call it a night. He felt relieved to just finally let the door close behind him, stretch out on the uncomfortable couch, ever too short for his long legs, and snuggle poor Blue, who was sick as a dog after just having woken up from anesthesia. So when he heard the knock on the door, he felt a wave of frustration rise in him and didn’t even bother to keep it in check as he grumbled against it that it was open (while wishing intensely that whomever was on the other side would just go the f*ck away...)

The door opened with a squeaky sound and he watched her red head poke in gingerly, before the rest of her body followed. _F*cking great._

“Hi,” she said hesitantly, attempting a smile.

He sat up, surprised, as she was the last person he’d expect to see after the way they had been with each other on the set today.

“Can I come in?” she asked in a small voice, irrelevantly, as she was _already_ in. Which of course he did not fail to state to her in a dry remark.

 _F*cking asshole_ , she thought to herself, immediately questioning her decision to come here... What was she going to get accomplished with him, anyway? She really didn’t want to be here either, but she didn’t feel like she had a choice. She had to tell him and she’d better tell him sooner than later... before everybody else knows. Somehow she didn’t think that he would ever forgive her if she did not tell him. First.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and her stomach, fighting off another wave of nausea washing over her, reaching out to the couch for something to hold on to, to keep herself steady.

He watches her waver and suddenly his annoyance is pushed aside by genuine concern. In the 9 months that they’ve been working together he has come to know her well enough to be able to tell that something was off with her. And had been for weeks now. She had always been nervous and a scatterbrain, but worked hard to fight her own insecurities and was getting really good. But then something happened and she has just not been herself and as frustrating as it has been on set, he would be lying if he said it did not bother him at all to see her struggle so much.

He gets on his feet and walks over to her side in just one step, putting a steady hand on her shoulder and leaning down to look into her face. She is very pale and he can see beads of sweat forming on her forehead. He can tell that she is definitely not well.

“Are you OK?” he asks, searching her eyes, but she refuses to look at him, looking at her hands. She swallows hard, feeling her mouth getting dry and her heart beginning to race. She licks her lips and continues to stare at the ground.

“ _Scully_ ,” he says and can’t believe that he just said it.

At that she looks up at him, surprise and amusement briefly crossing her weary face. She smiles at him softly and he can feel his tension dissipate – that’s how little it takes. He chuckles a bit, hiding his face in his palm in embarrassment.

“Sorry, it’s been a long day,” he apologizes ( _that's a first..._ ), “don’t you want to sit down?”

And he gently touches her elbow to guide her to the couch, but feels her resistance and her determination when her eyes finally lock with his and hold the gaze.

And suddenly he knows with a clarity of a premonition that whatever she came here to tell him is somehow crucial, life-changing, and he can feel his whole body go rigid, bracing himself for the news.

She shakes her head and refuses to sit, so he won’t either.

“ _You_ may want to sit down though,” she says plainly, confirming his concern that there’s a shit-storm coming.

“What is it?” he asks empathetically, growing impatient, but trying to sound as gentle and encouraging as he possibly can. It seems that she’s fighting an inner battle or looking for the right words to say, he can see the struggle written all over her face, her beautiful bone-structure, the classic features that he has come to know so well that he can read every little change of mood, every shift in expression. When they’re in a scene together, her face is his touchstone, whatever she is feeling at the moment naturally transfers to him and the scene just grows organically from there. It truly is like a magic that neither one of them can explain... But off screen, her face is a mystery to him, like there are secrets locked behind her deep blue eyes, and untold truths behind those fleshy lips, a whole side to her that he doesn’t know at all, reminding him that he really does not know _her_ all that well and sometimes he would drive himself crazy just trying to figure her out.

But he knows better now than to push her. He knows that she’s stalling, possibly bracing herself just as much as he is – and all he can do is wait it out.

As she’s standing there, looking for the right words to say to make this sound less ridiculous than it really is, a lock of her red hair gets loose and slides across her face and he reaches out automatically to tuck it behind her ear.

That’s all it takes. Just that simple gesture. To tell her that he _does_ care. In his own way. That he _is_ here for her. And she takes the plunge.

“ _David_...” she says his name with purpose and affection, pausing only briefly to catch her breath and try to calm her upset stomach. The last thing she needs right now is to puke all over him. But his eyes are soft and caring now, his hand still playing with that strand of her hair... _Now. NOW. Just SAY it._

“ _I’m pregnant_.”

* ** _SHIT_** *

There’s that out-of-the-body experience again. He’s watching himself watching her in disbelief, racing thoughts filling his mind like a storm drain in a flood.

_“She’s leaving... This is it... This is the end... Just when we were getting started... f*ck... How could she... The puking during their scenes the other day... Pregnant? How? What about me? Us...? Is she just gonna walk away like that? How could she be so f*cking reckless? How did I not know... how long? What now? **FUCK**!”_

And then he’s back in the scene, back in his body, back in his trailer with her standing just inches away, looking at him coyly, completely at his mercy, tears forming in her eyes threatening to overflow... * _storm drain_ *... and he can feel his knees buckle as the reality sets in.

He reaches out to her in a desperate attempt to brace himself, which is f*cking ridiculous, considering the shape she is in, already falling apart herself. She misreads the gesture of his outstretched arm and half-walks half-falls into his embrace as his arms automatically wrap around her and immediately he can feel her shoulders shake with soft cries...

\---

The city lights, the filtered, artificial air in the car, the noiseless ride, all of that combined gives him a surreal feeling of being underwater... His mind and his thoughts float back to the events of tonight, dominated by the bright gleam in her eyes and the all-encompassing warmth of her simple presence in the room, right next to him, intoxicating, her scent filling his nostrils and rising all the way to his brain, triggering myriads of memories, glimpses and flashbacks...

How much she has changed. Yet not at all...

The most remarkable change being the way she carries herself now. She is confident, self-assured, knowing exactly what she’s doing and why, goal oriented, pushing herself to the limits and definitely not taking any sh*t from anyone – and that includes himself. But she is still the goofball that she’d always been, easy and lighthearted, never afraid to make a fool of herself, always so down-to-earth, so honest an pure, always speaking her mind and never playing any games. That’s what he loves the most about her. With Gillian he always knew that whatever she said was what she meant. She simply could not lie. She would blame it on her notoriously bad memory, saying that she can’t lie, because she wouldn’t remember what she said to whom.

She told him once that she loved him and sometimes he wondered if she remembered that...

They’re sitting flush against each other with nothing more separating them than the fabric of his pants, as the skirt of her already short black velvet dress is hiked up and revealing the smooth white skin of her toned thigh...

_*white skin*_

_*black velvet*_

“ _A new religion that'll bring ya to your knees / Black velvet if you please...”_

_<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tT4d1LQy4es> _

_Does she have any idea of the effect she has on a man...?_

He tries to search her face for an answer, but she’s in a zone, too wrapped up in her nonsensical story, bursting into yet another fit of laughter, her slender arm reaching out blindly in search for his hand to hold on to...

And that is all it takes...

_“And so with just a touch of our fingers_

_I could make our circuitry explode_

_All we ever wanted_

_Was just to come in from the cold...”_

Unable to fight those images, he leans forward to the driver to ask him to turn on the radio.

There’s that familiar static sound and then, to his surprise and delight, the air is filled with Joni Mitchell’s unmistakable voice, the ache and longing pouring out of it, the longing to be _with_ someone, near another human body, to “ _come in from the cold_ ”...

He’s listening and feels the pain and longing resonate in his heart.

**_“But then absurdity came over me_**

**_And I longed to lose control_ **

**_(_** **_into no mind)_ **

_**Oh all I ever wanted**_

_**Was just to come in from the cold...”** _

**_<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbJo-dsFGfI> _ **


	4. Always a Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "“I have at times felt paralysed by fear, yes. Whether work-related or life-related. What I do know is that if I don’t get up when my alarm goes off, if I stay in bed even for an extra five minutes, I will be in trouble – my worries will take over. I’ve got kids to get me up, but I know that if I didn’t, my head might start spinning, and that affects every aspect of my life: how I relate to my family, how I move out into the world, how the expression behind my eyes in the photo shoot is.”
> 
> "I keep myself busy because when I stop, that’s when I get in trouble. That’s what I’ve learned. But then sometimes it’s important that I force myself to stop, because what am I running from?"
> 
> ~ Gillian Anderson - The Guardian, January 3, 2016  
> https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2016/jan/03/gillian-anderson-actor-and-single-mother-the-fall-x-files-war-and-peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She can kill with a smile  
> She can wound with her eyes  
> She can ruin your faith  
> with her casual lies  
> And she only reveals what she wants you to see  
> She hides like a child  
> But she's always a woman to me
> 
> She can lead you to love  
> She can take you or leave  
> She can ask for the truth  
> But she'll never believe  
> And she'll take what you give her  
> as long as it's free  
> Yeah, she steals like a thief  
> But she's always a woman to me
> 
> Oh, she takes care of herself  
> She can wait if she wants  
> She's ahead of her time  
> Oh, and she never gives out  
> And she never gives in  
> She just changes her mind
> 
> She will promise you more  
> Than the Garden of Eden  
> Then she'll carelessly cut you  
> And laugh while you're bleedin'  
> But she'll bring out the best  
> And the worst you can be  
> Blame it all on yourself  
> Cause she's always a woman to me
> 
> Oh, she takes care of herself  
> She can wait if she wants  
> She's ahead of her time  
> Oh, and she never gives out  
> And she never gives in  
> She just changes her mind
> 
> She is frequently kind  
> And she's suddenly cruel  
> She can do as she pleases  
> She's nobody's fool  
> But she can't be convicted  
> She's earned her degree  
> And the most she will do  
> Is throw shadows at you  
> But she's always a woman to me
> 
> Billy Joel ~ Always A Woman  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kI3MwwWYC3Q

It’s 1:30 am when she arrives to her hotel room in Greenwich Village, finally kicking off her insanely high heels and falling backwards onto the oversized bed, feeling the soft bedding envelop her in a gentle embrace and caress her burning skin...

“ _What the fuck_ ,” she grumbles to herself, “ _it’s mid-January in New York F*cking City. There is no reason to feel this hot..._ ” She closes her eyes to shut out the bright lights and finally exhales. She lets her chest rise and fall a few times, feeling her muscles relax, trying to do her yoga exercises to calm her racing mind, but her body is too hot to cooperate...

“ _Heat flashes_?” she thinks to herself. And the thought scares the hell out of her. She IS after all 47 years old and she is not getting any younger, but despite trying to play it cool, she is _not ready_ to get _old_ yet. She is not. She has two children in primary school and a heart and a mind of a college girl. Her body, that is a different story though...

She lets her hair loose and runs her hands down her aching muscles, a mindless, routine thing, something that helps her feel grounded, feeling her own skin, being _in touch_ – with her body and with herself. Suddenly the incredible fatigue of the past couple of days sets in and pulls her into a reverie as she’s drifting away, letting memories fill her head...

**_Memories... light the corners of my mind..._ **

_Misty water-colored memories_

_Of the way we were..._

_<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJNrKHv50X8> _

She allows herself the brief indulgence in the fresh image of him sitting next to her, his strong muscular arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders shaking with violent fits of laughter as she collapsed into him during the interview, chocking out incomprehensible sounds rather than words... She felt lost, completely falling apart – and he was there, her anchor, holding her together with his whole being, gently yet firmly pressing her against his broad chest, his long fingers digging into the soft flesh of her arms, grabbing her elbow, grounding her, holding her close to his heart...

_Scattered pictures,_

_Of the smiles we left behind_

_Smiles we gave to one another_

_For the way we were..._

She’s laughing and laughing, not knowing anymore where it’s all coming from – she has long forgotten what the hell she was talking about and all she could focus on was his presence, reassuring yet unnerving at the same time...

Her head is buried in his lap, something unthinkable just moments ago suddenly becoming the most natural thing. She is breathing him in, a sweet & salty scent, warm and reassuring, something familiar to hold on to, all the time clutching at him, allowing herself to just lose control...

_Can it be that it was all so simple then?_

_Or has time re-written every line?_

_If we had the chance to do it all again -_

_Tell me, would we? Could we?_

Her mind flashes back to another time she felt the same way, to a very young version of herself – the two of them standing in the pouring rain, laughing in a mixture of exhaustion, desperation and sheer joy of being alive – at that very moment, in the middle of the night and the middle of nowhere in the woods of British Columbia, and though they were tired and frustrated and drenched to the bone and there was the whole crew surrounding them, at that moment in time it was just the two of them in a safe warm bubble in which they had wrapped each other, creating a memory only shared by them, a moment forever gone and yet etched so deeply in her mind...

_Mem'ries, may be beautiful and yet_

_What's too painful to remember_

_We simply choose to forget_

_So it's the laughter_

_We will remember_

_Whenever we remember..._

_the way we were..._

Half asleep, half lost in memories, a couple of light years ago and a thousand miles away, her hands reach her breasts and she feels her nipples harden at her own gentle touch, her mind finally registering her body’s reaction, feeling shocked, taken aback and slightly embarrassed. It has been such a long time since she had felt that way. Since she had allowed herself to indulge in someone's touch, even her own...

Her life consisted solely of work - press, rehearsals, writing, filming, travelling back and forth between continents, her therapy sessions and yoga classes whenever she could swing it ( _“it’s important to put yourself first”, “you need to take care of yourself before you can take care of others”, “you need some balance in your life”, “worry about what is near, what is far will take care of itself”..._ oh the constant nagging voices in her head...), more work, more press...

And then, when there was a pause, a blank spot in her diary, she would absolutely panic, not knowing what to do with herself...

\---

Of course there were her children. Her only constant. They filled her life with joy and love and purpose. Sometimes they would be the only reason for her to get up in the morning and the only way she could lay her head to rest at night. Next to them. Snuggled between her two boys, her angels that she had prayed for so hard (though she sucked at praying and anything religious, really, she still had her own faith – she believed in doing the best you can, spreading kindness, good karma and avoiding assholes). She would breathe in their smell, no longer that sweet new baby scent, but still the warm soothing smell of the innocence of childhood, careless days spent at the playground, playing in grass and mud and water, and she would think back to her own childhood, less than innocent and crazy complicated...

Unlike her sweet boys and her perfect little girl, she was never an easy child, she knew it now, she was a rebel and a pain in the ass, marred by low self-esteem and body image issues and constantly getting herself in trouble for all of her bullshit... She never liked herself much. It took so many people in her life to _make_ her feel loved... To show her that she _deserved_ to be loved – without having to work hard for it or prove anything to anyone or sleep with whomever showed any interest in her – but just for who she was: a good, caring person with a kind heart and a beautiful soul...

And then she’d think of all the years wasted on self-loath and self-doubt and worthless men and all kinds of distractions from what was lying right in front of her – _life_. Simple, beautiful and... so f*cking complicated. And she would lie there, holding the two little bodies close to her heart, listening to her beloved Adele playing softly in the other room, and cry herself to sleep...

\---

_When the rain is blowing in your face,_

_And the whole world is on your case,_

_I could offer you a warm embrace_

_To make you feel my love._

_When the evening shadows and the stars appear,_

_And there is no one there to dry your tears,_

_I could hold you for a million years_

_To make you feel my love._

_I know you haven't made your mind up yet,_

_But I will never do you wrong._

_I've known it from the moment that we met,_

_No doubt in my mind where you belong._

_I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue,_

_I'd go crawling down the avenue._

_No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do_

_To make you feel my love._

_The storms are raging on the rolling sea_

_And on the highway of regret._

_The winds of change are blowing wild and free,_

_You ain't seen nothing like me yet._

_I could make you happy, make your dreams come true._

_Nothing that I wouldn't do._

_Go to the ends of the Earth for you,_

_To make you feel my love..._

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0put0_a--Ng>


	5. Wonderful Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and here, at last, he was... setting his foot in the door, half-expecting to enter a whole new, fantastic world...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late in the evening; she's wondering what clothes to wear.  
> She puts on her make-up and brushes her long blonde hair.  
> And then she asks me, "Do I look all right?"  
> And I say, "Yes, you look wonderful tonight."
> 
> We go to a party and everyone turns to see  
> This beautiful lady that's walking around with me.  
> And then she asks me, "Do you feel all right?"  
> And I say, "Yes, I feel wonderful tonight."
> 
> I feel wonderful because I see  
> The love light in your eyes.  
> And the wonder of it all  
> Is that you just don't realize how much I love you.
> 
> It's time to go home now and I've got an aching head,  
> So I give her the car keys and she helps me to bed.  
> And then I tell her, as I turn out the light,  
> I say, "My darling, you were wonderful tonight.  
> Oh my darling, you were wonderful tonight." 
> 
> Eric Clapton ~ Wonderful Tonight  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vUSzL2leaFM

His mind is racing, creating images, putting them into words and letting them unfold...

_She’s so beautiful, so beautiful, so beautiful – it’s like a mantra, a chant in his head._

_A thought, an image his brain is stuck upon and can’t for the love of G*d move on..._

 

She let him zip up her dress when he peeked into in her dressing room before the show and all he could think of now was unzipping it and slowly peeling her out of it...

_“ **Turn around** ,” _he hears himself say in a distant voice, devoid of any emotion, that’s how hard he is trying to keep himself in check, while there is a sea-storm raging inside, just under the cool surface, wave after wave rolling with a thundering sound of blood rushing through his veins, his throbbing temples, threatening to swallow up his sanity any minute, any second now, if he doesn’t get to see that face again tonight...

\---

She has learned to soothe herself. Of course she has. She has also learned to love herself. She has learnt to love her body – through her own touch. To feel it and feel alright with it. With herself. But of course there were times late at night or early in the morning, waking up with a jerk on a plane or in a hotel room in some godforsaken place, when loneliness would hit her and the old longing was back... longing for nearness, for someone to hold her and tell her that she _is_ loved...

And now she was here, her boys were thousands of miles away and she found herself lost in one of those dreams, her hand slowly reaching down the center of her body, caressing the soft skin of her inner thigh and as her teeth sunk into her lips to stifle a moan that was threatening to escape her and that she suddenly felt ashamed of, her mind traveled to the only safe place she could think of right now...

 _His arms_... That’s what she remembers the most... his arms, strong and beautiful, wrapped around her the whole time she was struggling with herself...

 _His hand holding hers_ , 23 years ago... last night. His long sensual fingers threaded with hers. Grounding her. Always.

 _His eyes._ There was something very soothing, calming about the look in his eyes. There was also something very distracting about them... Either way, when his eyes sought out hers, there was no way to avoid that steady gaze. Their eyes would lock and hold the gaze – speaking volumes, making up for everything that’s been left unsaid between them.

\---

He doesn’t even consider the lift and takes the stairs three at a time, driven only by the desire to see her one more time tonight, to finish what they started, whatever it may be... It isn’t until he’s standing in front of her door ( _Could it be that it’s really number 35?_ – _How ironic..._ ), catching his breath as if he had just run a marathon ( _F*ck this getting old!_ ), that the reality sets in, followed very closely by panic...

He brings his hand to the door, letting his knuckles softly graze the wood as he takes another deep breath (W _hat the hell are you doing, pull yourself together, what are you, 16?_ ), and he puts his ear next to his hand, listening for any sign of her actually being there or being still awake...

What he hears is proof enough and it sends an exquisite jolt of pleasure and nervous anticipation right through him.

\---

“ ** _F*ck!_** _”_

The knock on the door causes her body to jerk away from the comforting fog of her memories and the soothing touch of her fingers on her flesh. There’s a moment of panic and confusion, a quick check of time telling her that it’s 1:45, only 15 minutes since she’s gotten here. Another automatic check in the mirror reassures her that she is decent, as she hasn’t even taken her dress off yet and she doesn’t bother to look for her shoes as she stumbles to the door, curiosity taking over fatigue and annoyance, _hope_ (or maybe just wishful thinking) resurfacing in her like the tide in full moon.

\---

He holds his breath and closes his eyes, trying to regain composure as he hears the plopping sound of her tiny bare feet on the floor and then finds himself staring in those sparkling blue eyes that do not betray any of her surprise at seeing him at the door.

Her breathy laughter is intoxicating and her look is one of sheer amusement, while his turns into panic when he notices her head snap over her shoulder as if to check on someone _else_ in the room...

 **_Sh*t_ ** _... of course, what was he thinking...? What were the chances of her actually being here alone...? I mean look at her!_

The endless locks of golden hair poured over her bare shoulders as she shook her head turning back to him, seeing his eyes inevitably sliding down to the curve of her breasts, soft, round and hugged tightly ( _oh so tightly_ ) by the black velvet dress... _*Black Velvet* ..._ the soundtrack of the night popping up to his mind again, making him hum along with it, while trying desperately to think of anything else but the way her milky skin would feel under his fingers...

She is so beautifully, stunningly _prepossessing_ , and in a way it feels like seeing her for the first time, feeling his body respond to her in a whole new way – the way he’d been trying to keep in check for all those years – and so far he’d been succeeding (give or take a night or two...) Just seeing her was such immense _pleasure_ that he had struggled for so long to not acknowledge, but it was becoming too damn _hard_...

_*hard*_

_*pleasure*_

_* **damnit** *_

Just the words alone sent electric jolts through him...

 _Damn you, Jung, and your stupid associations_...

It’s been so long... since Téa, since anyone, really... He’s trying to rationalize, trying to keep it together – _Maybe he’s not even that much into it anymore..._ a fleeting thought, a first.

Then back to her – her soft skin bathing in the moonlight, the familiar gleam in her eyes, the twitch of her lips, her signature thing, still doing things to him, making his body parts twitch in response...

 _Oh G*d, who am I kidding_ , he laughs at himself inwardly, _I am still very much into it..._  And then scolds himself immediately for that thought.

\---

At that she pulls at his shirt, licking those lips with the most seductive expression he’s seen since _Mrs. Robinson_ and whispers in the new low tone of voice that he never knew before, but finds extremely sexy:

“So, _Duchovny_ ,” she’s drawing out the words, her eyes ablaze, “are you gonna come in?”

She calls him by his second name, an inside joke running all the way back to their beginning, when the young reckless thing that Gillian was (that she’s always been) decided to call him that, because that’s what his character liked to be called... That was so her – always confusing fiction for reality... And of course _Mulder_ , it was all his fault...

He’s searching her face, her eyes, seeing for the first time in years the lost innocence from the days long gone... (If there ever _was_ a time when she was completely innocent...) and it’s so appealing – here she is standing in front of him, 23 years older than on that dreary night in Vancouver and so much has changed, yet nothing at all, when she looks at him with those wet blue eyes and everything, _everything_ comes rushing back...

The rain, the cold, her chattering teeth, the desperation in their laughter, the way she felt in his arms the first time he held her, the immense trust in her eyes when she looked up at him, her little fingers clutching his with such unexpected force... She trusted him, she relied on him, from day one... They spent that night snuggled on his couch, just holding each other – for the simple comfort of each other’s warmth, for the company and complicity... two lost souls in the middle of the night clinging to each other...

Then the morning light broke the spell and it never happened quite the same way again...

And as he stood there, he suddenly realized with full force of the years between them that he DID want to come in. He’s always wanted to come in – and here, at last, he was... setting his foot in the door, half-expecting to enter a whole new, fantastic world...


	6. Take This Longing...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought you’d never come,” she says quietly – and the “never” covers years...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many men have loved the bells  
> you fastened to the rein,  
> and everyone who wanted you  
> they found what they will always want again.  
> Your beauty lost to you yourself  
> just as it was lost to them. 
> 
> Oh take this longing from my tongue,  
> whatever useless things these hands have done.  
> Let me see your beauty broken down  
> like you would do for one you love. 
> 
> Your body like a searchlight  
> my poverty revealed,  
> I would like to try your charity  
> until you cry, "Now you must try my greed."  
> And everything depends upon  
> how near you sleep to me 
> 
> Just take this longing from my tongue  
> all the lonely things my hands have done.  
> Let me see your beauty broken down  
> like you would do for one your love. 
> 
> Hungry as an archway  
> through which the troops have passed,  
> I stand in ruins behind you,  
> with your winter clothes, your broken sandal straps.  
> I love to see you naked over there  
> especially from the back. 
> 
> Oh take this longing from my tongue,  
> all the useless things my hands have done,  
> untie for me your hired blue gown,  
> like you would do for one that you love. 
> 
> Leonard Cohen ~ Take This Longing  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2cafzCEokk

The room smells of peonies, the exquisite scent he recognized immediately, as he came to associate it with her – the soft, sensual innocence of it with deep, overwhelming undertones, just like the tender buds in all shades of pink suddenly bursting open to reveal the shocking richness inside – that was her. And immediately he wondered two things:

 _Who got them for her?_ \- Could be anyone on Earth, because _everybody_ loved her, and it might as well be herself, because that’s _exactly_ the kind of woman she was – one that would go out and “ _buy the flowers herself_ ”.

But also: _Why did he never think of getting her some himself?_

And more importantly: _Why did the thought suddenly upset him now..._

He swallows. Hard. Everything is becoming so damn hard...

He’s standing there staring, suddenly hearing himself stutter his apologies:

“I’m... I’m sorry... I had no idea... I shouldn’t have...”

_F*cking great! There he was, David F*cking Duchovny, at 55, standing in an old hotel room on Washington Square (why there, of all places), stuttering, staring..._

“ _So_...” she says slowly with a deliberate pause, drawing out the moment, feeling the balance shift, as for once it is her who’s in control of the situation, looking him straight in the eye, with the bold “ _come-undress-me look”,_ her eyes already naked, sucking him in, challenging him...

Looking away, he can feel himself surrender, backing out as she licks her lips again, this time letting her tongue linger much longer than necessary, longer than he can bear...

_What the hell is she doing? Is she... could it be...? Her eyes, the way she looked at him all night... the touches... oh the **touches**..._

He can still feel the very fresh imprint of her small warm hand burning through the skin of his thigh, so close... her fingers came _so close_... As did he.

_Oh G*d. He can’t even look at her..._

And as if she could read his mind, she pulls away from him abruptly, leaving him aroused, gasping for air. She turns around, away from him and once again he feels himself panicking at the notion of “losing her” /though she has never been his to lose in the first place/, as he watches her back disappear from him, still only an arm’s length away from him and yet too far, the room getting cold the second her warm body leaves the bubble that’s been enveloping him ever since he entered... their instant connection suddenly broken again...

“Can I get you something to drink?” she says with a sly smile, pointing her long slender arm in the general direction of a flashy bar somewhere behind her, where he cannot see past her radiant presence in front of him.

She’s playing her part, he can tell now, toying with him, a perfect Mrs. Robinson she is – and it’s shocking to him that he would think of her in those terms... He always thought of Mrs. Robinson as old... But that, of course, was back when he himself was barely Benjamin’s age... Now he’s all grown up – and so is she, though she is still 8 years younger than him... and she is licking her lips again, looking at him from under heavy eyelids and he’s wondering briefly if she has had a drink already...

“I...” he opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out... That’s what she does to him.

“I _know_ you don’t drink,” she finishes his sentence for him with a self-satisfied grin and a slight chuckle at how well she knows him, “and neither do I,” she adds and it’s not entirely untrue.

He watches her beautiful back, following its perfect white curve all the way down to the black velvet of her dress, taking in the image of beauty and serenity as she handles the crystal glasses with professional skill, wishing briefly to feel those small fidgetty fingers on himself. She pours herself a tall flute of champagne and takes a healthy sip before turning back to him, flicking her hair over her shoulder, her eyes catching his – staring...

He shifts his weight uncomfortably, his first instinct to avert his eyes, but she holds the gaze, never leaving his, reeling him in like the great white whale...

He is hers now, utterly and entirely, on whatever terms she chooses.

She approaches him languidly, deliberately measuring her moves, handing him a glass of gin-tonic with all the trimmings, one more time sipping from her own before setting it down and stepping even closer, standing flush against him now, her breasts pressing gently against his ribcage, her face in line with his chest, fighting the urge to rest her flushed cheeks on the cool material of his shirt, finding comfort in his nearness, his warmth...

She is not lying, not entirely, anyway, she has been really good about her life-style, though old habits do die hard, she’s been trying to steer clear from alcohol and drugs of all kind, anything that could cloud her mind, really, having had enough of that in the past and not having any desire to tread those waters ever again. She would still sneak an occasional cigarette when her unrest took over and she thought that her mind would explode, but other than that, especially during rehearsal periods, she would think of herself as an athlete in training – staying clean and focused, avoiding any possible distractions...

_*distractions*_

_*his lips*_

So full and tempting, glistening with fresh saliva from his tongue slipping over them gently as he speaks to her, his mouth moving, but her brain not registering any sound... All she can think of is the pink tip of his tongue between his lips... and hers...

She looks up at him, a question still present in her eyes, a challenge.

“I thought you’d never come,” she says quietly – and the “ _never_ ” covers years, not just the moments between the kiss in the hallway, the soft pressure and delightful taste of his lips on hers – and now, the awkward silence charged with infinite possibilities...


	7. Time Passes In Moments...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time – the universal invariant – can disappear after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Time passes in moments...  
> Moments which, rushing past, define the path of a life,  
> just as surely as they lead towards its end.  
> How rarely do we stop to examine that path,  
> to see the reasons why all things happen,  
> to consider whether the path we take in life is our own making,  
> or simply one into which we drift with eyes closed.  
> But what if we could stop,  
> pause to take stock of each precious moment before it passes?  
> Might we then see the endless forks in the road that have shaped a life?  
> And, seeing those choices, choose another path?” 
> 
> ~ Gillian Anderson, all things (The X-Files, 07X17)

**_Time – the universal invariant – can disappear after all..._ **

They are a proof...

The minute he set his foot into the hotel room overlooking Washington Square, time and space ceased to exist. It’s just the two of them, locked together in this forever beginning of what they do not know, yet it's like coming back to a place so familiar it feels like home...

Like the tide, they keep rising and falling, clashing, running in circles, going back and forth, only to come back together one way or another...

\---

She’s watching his thick fleshy lips move, glistening with saliva as his tongue glides along his strong teeth, and she licks her own lips unconsciously, a sudden overwhelming image of his mouth closing over hers filling her head, his tongue caressing hers, tracing the outlines of her face, sliding down her neck, leaving a hot and wet trail on her neckline, her collarbone, sucking on her tender skin to the point of leaving painful marks, making her his, her breasts striving towards him, aching for the same touch...

Once again she can feel her body react to his with a powerful surge, losing all control, his words long lost to her as well, as she’s mesmerized by the sound of his voice – deep, low and raspy with emotion, a thick drip of desire stroking her insides with the same effect his fingertips had on her arms and her thighs just a few hours earlier...

G*d, she can still feel them burning on her skin, leaving her all tingly, yearning for his touch – again and again, waves crushing on the shore...

His voice is enveloping her now, soothing, yet strangely, exquisitely arousing, she can feel it deep inside her core and a fleeting thought enters her mind:

_Just the sound of his voice alone could be her undoing... The way it vibrates through every fiber of her being, making her come alive, more than she's ever been..._

And come she will – just moments after that, before he even touches her, his whispers caressing her burning skin, easing the tension and the ache in her muscles, she can feel her inner walls constrict, a sudden overwhelming sensation washing over her, blinding and shocking, the realization barely registering with her as his name escapes her parted lips...

“ _David_...”

Just a breath.

But it’s the breath they both needed to go on...

\---

He places two fingers on her mouth, feeling the heat of her lips swollen with desire, shushing her gently, as if not wanting to break the spell – a desperate attempt to make this moment last...

**_Time... The universal invariant..._ **

The clock is showing 1:54, precisely 9 minutes since he’d stepped in, and it's all it took for the whole world to shift...

Her eyes are electrifying on his - oddly calm and hooded, his view obscured by the thickness of his eyelashes, the look making her heart swell with love and care for this 55 year old boy – as if that’s never going to change. He may be 8 years older than her, but their age doesn’t matter any more than their distance and their differences. What matters is the two decades they had spent together, working next to each other as equals – and the thought itself is almost romantic and sexy as hell at the same time.

Here is a man she can look up to, yet compare to as well, her _equal_.

And the man is watching her with tentative eyes filled with a kind of affection that is new to her, raw and touching, filling all of her voids, her deep dark places, pouring into every last crack, while his warm hands are cupping her cheeks as his thumbs rub her lips before being replaced by his mouth – finally, _finally_ on hers, closing the circuit and allowing her to let go – let the electric current ripple through her, taking over as she gives in to his touch, his tongue making love to hers with tender yet hard strokes, his arms holding her close, her nipples tender against his tight abdomen, his hands studying her face, long fingers tangled in her hair, caressing gently, soothing her, while he's placing little kisses along her jaw-line and her neck as she’s coming down from her high, completely taken by surprise...

And then the giggles are bubbling up to the surface, her eyes losing the wild feral glow, suddenly meek and thankful on his – and there’s that innocence again, something he thinks he still recognizes, even now, 9 minutes and 23 years later...

His eyes are gentle now and for a moment he looks like he’s going to say something, something profound and significant, but he doesn’t and the heavy silence flows back, underlined by the symphony of their breathing and their deep wet eyes speaking volumes instead...

And then he does say it:

“ _I’ve missed you._ ”

And it doesn’t cover just this past hour – he’d missed her every day of those 13 years that they have been apart.

And when he leans down to kiss her, again, he kisses her 23 years deep...

 

***

 

**_Is this just vulgar electricity_ **

**_Is this the edifying fire_ ** _(it was so pure)_

_**Does your smile's covert complicity** _

_**Debase as it admires** (just a flu with a temperature) _

_**Are you just checking out your mojo** _

_**Or am I just fighting off growing old** (just a high fever) _

_**All I ever wanted** _

_**Was just to come in from the cold** _

_<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbJo-dsFGfI> _

 


	8. Stockings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think we know each other too well. I think we probably know each other better than we know our spouses at any time that we might have had spouses... There is an attraction. There might even be more than a friendly attraction, but it’s not going to happen...” 
> 
> ~ Gillian Anderson for The Huffington Post, March 2014  
> http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/13/gillian-anderson-david-duchovny_n_4959360.html

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know where friendship ends and passion does begin?  
> When the gin and tonic makes the room begin to spin.  
> There may be attraction here but it will never flower  
> So I'm assigned to read her mind, now in this witching hour  
> Do you know where friendship ends and passion does begin?  
> (When she does not show you the way out on the way in) --  
> It's between the binding of her stockings and her skin. 
> 
> Suzanne Vega ~ Stockings  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyZddrngaAE&feature=youtu.be

23 years...

13 since the last day on the LA set, the day her tears had turned into a blur, yet a blur she cannot erase from her memory. The way he held her in his arms, his eyes steady on hers, deep and calming, searching her soul. She couldn’t even look at him without crying... They didn’t hear the “ _cut_ ”. They didn’t notice that everyone else had left the room. For one precious moment in time it was just the two of them... Holding each other, their foreheads still touching as scripted, their faces so close to each other, but they wouldn’t kiss... not even then.

He’d nuzzle her neck and her cheek and if he had said something, she can’t remember. She _did_ tell him she loved him, she can still remember it clearly, her voice just a whisper, a _sob_ , yet it seemed to have resonated off the walls when those three words came out... Maybe it was just an afterthought, something you say when you know that this is goodbye and you may or may not ever see that person again...

Either way, he did not say anything, anything at all, but he held her close, so close to his heart that she could feel its rapid beat and she fought the urge to just let go and let herself love him...

But then the moment was gone – and that would be it for another 5 years...

\---

5 years can be a VERY long time when someone who used to be an every-day part of your life, an inevitable fixture, is suddenly gone...

At first it is a relief... It’s like taking a deep breath, leaving everything behind, finally washing the red out of her hair and going back to being herself. Doing all the things she always wanted to do. Traveling. Reading. Writing. Creating a new family...

At 35 she finally felt ready for having a baby – again. But this time she wanted to do it right... And of course, to her surprise and annoyance, getting pregnant had proven to be one of the things she had very little control of... She could not deny her jealousy and heartache when she saw David beaming over his baby boy... Even as a new-born he was a perfect image of him – and she couldn’t quite understand why her heart broke a little at that sight, until she finally held her own brand new baby 4 years later, a part of herself that was inseparable, that she created, just the thought alone filling her with such awe – of her own body for being capable of such a miracle – and of this tiny creature for bringing so much joy into a world that seemed so shattered before his arrival.

She never had a chance to allow herself to bask in all those emotions with Piper. She was much too scared, too freaked out, too busy, too unprepared, too insecure to become a mother at that time. 10 days after a damn C-section she was back on set, though being wheeled around like an object, not even a human being, but she didn’t give a f*ck. All she really cared about was the tiny warm bundle that kept reappearing periodically to be fed and changed and loved...

Maybe that’s where they started drifting apart – there was a new human being that needed her – ALL of her. There was no time, no place, no room for anyone else... And he was on his own...

Not for long though – never for long... She thought she’d be happy when he’d find someone. And she honestly was... But by the time he did, her own little family was falling apart and it was hard to be happy _for_ someone you’d rather be happy _with_.

It was then when she had built this wall and closed herself off – to him and to everyone... Or so she thought. But the heart wants what the heart wants and when it can’t get it where it’s at, it just needs to keep looking... And her heart had the unfaltering ability to always drag her in more mess...

Times got hard... But she had learned not to miss him, not to rely on him, to handle her pain late at night... It would have been 5 years since the last time she saw him – last time she held him... They each had two children now and some rough years behind them – and when their eyes met on the first day back on set again... it was all there...

***

“ _Hey_...”

His voice finally reaches her, coming from what seems like the distance of all of those years... She blinks up at him, slowly coming back to reality, realizing how much older he got in the 8 years that followed – and yet his eyes are still the same – kind and soothing and gentle on hers...

“You OK?”

His thumb is touching her bottom lip again, the same way he did a few minutes and years ago, the way he’s always had... There’s so much care and raw desire in that simple gesture, the single touch – a thumb-print. A claim. And she’s fighting the momentary urge to take his thumb between her teeth and suck on it.

Her nod is barely noticeable, but her hands come to rest on his stomach, grazing it with a soft touch of her fingertips, electrifying his skin as her nails dig deeper through his shirt.

He brings the glass to his lips, barely getting them wet, fighting a losing battle. His mouth is dry and his thoughts are blurry and by G*d he needs that drink right now... Either that – or...

He takes a quick swig from his glass, putting it down and grabbing her wrist in one swift move, bringing his mouth to hers, effectively making her open her lips for him and letting her drink from his, the taste of alcohol blending on their tongues.

She gasps, wincing at the unexpected force of his touch, both shocking and thrilling – something she used to be afraid of – his force, his temper – suddenly strangely exciting, attracting her to him, making her ache for more...

Here is a man who is powerful, strong, who she’d spent years receding from – suddenly _wanting_ her and intimidated by her at the same time – as he stutters “ _I’m sorry_ ” again – and she almost feels sorry for _him_... _When the hell has he become so insecure_?

 _“I’m not,”_ she says firmly as she pulls him closer, returning the kiss with just as much force, showing him who’s in charge here. She needs it and he lets her. Her kiss is deep and desperate and demanding, hitting just the right nerves in his tongue and the roof of his mouth, the strokes of her tongue getting erratic, almost wild.

It’s been such a long time since she had kissed or been kissed by anyone like that.

And it’s been forever since _he_ had kissed her... _like that_.

There’s a moment of absolute oblivion, a pendulum swing, when things can go either way... They can let go and spontaneously combust – or step back and look at what the f*ck they’re doing...

He opens his eyes briefly to look down at her, her luscious lips still biting his violently, close to drawing blood. She’s wild and feral and he knows that there _is_ no stopping her...


	9. The Reasons Why...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have a real problem with stillness. With just stopping and being quiet...”  
> ~ Gillian Anderson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think about how it might have been  
> We'd spend our days travelin'  
> It's not that I don't understand you  
> It's not that I don't want to be with you  
> But you only wanted me  
> The way you wanted me
> 
> So, I will head out alone, hope for the best  
> And we hang our heads down  
> As we skip the goodbyes  
> And you can tell the world what you want them to hear  
> I've got nothing left to lose, my dear  
> So, I'm up for the little white lies  
> But you and I know the reason why  
> I'm gone, and you're still there
> 
> I'll buy a magazine searching for your face  
> From coast to coast, or where ever I find my place  
> I'll track you on the radio, and  
> I'll find your list in a different name  
> But as close as I get to you  
> It's not the same
> 
> So, I will head out alone, hope for the best  
> We can pat ourselves on the back  
> And say that we tried  
> And if one of us makes it big  
> We can spill our regrets  
> And talk about how the love never dies  
> But you and I know the reason why  
> I'm gone, and you're still there...
> 
> Rachael Yamagata ~ The Reason Why  
> https://youtu.be/hxZnAFnYKJE

She _can_ , however, stop herself. And she does.

Once again pushing herself away from him, she shakes her head slightly, as if in disbelief, and without a word she crosses the room, heading to the French door leading out on a balcony... Somehow along the way her skirt got hiked up, revealing now the black binding of her sheer stockings that he had not even noticed before, the most tender part of her leg – the place “ _where friendship ends and passion does begin_ ”...

He watches her, speechless, the words whirling on his brain, too aware of the blood rushing to his face and all of the appropriate body parts, as she walks deliberately slowly, aware of his eyes on her, letting him enjoy the view, then stops to snatch a small package from the table next to her before opening the door and stepping out into the cold air, him closely behind her.

She shivers slightly at the feeling of his heavy hand resting on her shoulder, turning around to see his wounded eyes on hers.

_She can’t do this. She can’t f*cking hurt him like this... Not again!_

“I need a cigarette,” she hisses with a strange detachment, as if nothing ever happened, as if the night had just begun.

He watches her nervous hands flutter wildly as she fingers her pack for one...

“I need to think...” she adds, placing the thin mint cigarette between her lips, every movement of hers an act of sheer seduction, her eyes never leaving his as if saying “ _watch me_ ”... and he _is_.

He whips a Zippo out of nowhere and lights it up for her, her eyes wide with surprise and appreciation, and he only gives her an eyebrow, but it’s obvious how very satisfied he is with himself scoring two for his gentleman skills.

 _Think..._ He has to laugh inwardly. When _has_ she ever _thought_ before jumping into a relationship? Dating whomever came close enough on set. Getting pregnant in the first f*cking season. By a guy who he _still_ couldn’t stand, after all these years, because to this day he would wear that smug “ _I-f*cked-Gillian-Anderson_ ” expression that he wanted to wipe off his face with his fist... Yeah, that one _still_ hurt. That bad.

Thank goodness that Piper was _nothing_ like him and _all_ her mom. From her looks – her freckled face dominated by those big blue eyes lighting up with little sparkles whenever she’d smile, to her voice and her laughter, the same girly giggle that has become her mother’s signature thing and his undoing. Whenever she’d laugh like that, he’d be completely lost, overwhelmed by such deep caring feelings for her...

Being in her company was such delight. He loved having her around on set, her presence always a welcomed distraction from the daily grind, her childish curiosity keeping them all on their toes, as she would explore and investigate every little detail to later put them together in her doodles. She had an artist in her, even then, and her mother was so very proud of her. Even more so now.

It felt like finally getting to know her for the first time – the unruly ginger miniature of Gillian from twenty years ago suddenly all grown up, turned into a real person, a completely independent human being with her own set of values and beliefs and he felt flattered, blessed and inspired just by getting to hang out with her, drinking ale and cracking jokes till the wee hours, every now and again bursting into violent fits of laugher; while her mother (her _mother_ – how strange did it feel to think of her like that... how could she possibly have an adult child when only yesterday she was a child herself...?) – _Gillian_ was sitting quietly, watching them from a distance, giving them space to bond, her face serious, but calm, filled with light, the kind of light he knew so well and missed so much...

He will never forget the look in her eyes when she looked at her daughter – no matter how tired or frustrated she was on that day or night, her face would light up, her lines smooth out and her eyes would fill with tenderness... On a few rare occasions he had seen the tenderness when she looked at him – and could feel his heart leap in his chest making it ache with strange longing, before he checked himself back with reality.

“What a fine young lady you’ve raised,” he says later with genuine awe, watching her beam, his favourite sight. She’s looking him straight in the eye, taking note of all the passed time, a vidid memory of David and Piper playing out in her mind: David lifting her up on his knee to tell her a story (he’d never read them, he just made them up as he went and he would change voices, too), hearing her squeal with delight, her already big eyes getting wider by the minute and stuck on his face, hung up on his lips, as his own expression changed – she could see it even _now_ – the _love_ , the _wonder_ – that there was this charming little creature that she had made, given birth to and nurtured to life...

And all of the angst and frustration of the never-ending work-days, the constant waiting – for her, because her body and her brain just wouldn’t function properly, because she was up all night with a crying baby, waking up exhausted and panicky, all of the times he was an unwitting witness of her fits of morning sickness, all of his childish, selfish anger with Clyde for doing this to her... all of that disappeared – in that _look_ in her eyes...

***

He watches her hungrily pull at her cigarette, one arm across her chest, her restless fingers running up and down her other arm, rubbing her half-exposed breasts in the process, which he finds extremely sexy.

She has that faraway look of 23 years ago, puffing at her cheap fags any chance she got and he's thinking how f*cking disgusting that was, his mind slipping on occasion to the taste of smoke and whiskey or cheap wine on her breath and on her tongue...

She would smoke and drink and hang out with the crew, coming back late, wasted or hung-over, while he’d go for a 10 mile run and then crawl into his trailer to curl up on his extremely uncomfortable couch and read.

In the beginning she’d come around sometimes, she’d be drunk and sweet and cuddly – and sometimes she wanted just that – a warm body to snuggle next to and to feel his strong arms around her, for him to hold her and talk her down from her high or her craze, to stop her from making another stupid mistake... Sometimes he’d do that – and sometimes he’d send her home where she’d cry or drink herself to sleep. Unless, of course, somebody else offered to take her home. And somebody always did. A convenient distraction from life.

He had his own agenda and his own set of rules:

#1 – he wouldn’t f*ck anyone on set

#2 – he’d avoid what’s not good for him

And she most certainly wasn’t. She wasn’t even good for _herself_.

He’s looking at the side of her face turned away from him, taking in the changes – the lines around her eyes and her lips, thinner than he remembers, her soft skin getting frail, covered in myriads of freckles, her eyelids heavy... And he can see nothing of the beautiful disaster that she used to be. What he’s seeing is tender, quiet beauty, peaceful grace.

She’s always said that Piper had saved her life – and looking at her now, he completely believes it. Piper was a miracle in so many ways, though he certainly did not think of her that way back then...

Back then she was a burden and an unwelcomed distraction, the reason why things got awkward between them, a little bloodsucker...

Until her baby blues flew up to his face and her little hand reached out for his...

Piper _was_ a miracle and he knew it now, how could she not be, being Gillian’s child. He could see all of her in her mum’s eyes now and remember how happy she was when she “got a little sister”, when Madelaine was born... But he didn’t want her to hang out on the set, thinking foolishly that he was protecting her from the big bad world, as if he didn’t know any better, as if he didn’t know that the big bad world would come to your doorstep, uninvited, creeping its way in...

He thought he was doing the right thing, damnit... He didn’t want for his little princess to grow up around monsters... And yet he’d almost lost her, anyway.

***

He shivers at the thought, suddenly feeling the chill creep under the lapels of his jacket and an overwhelming need to be near her, to hold her close, _to be held_...

He steps forward, gingerly wrapping his arms around her hips, subconsciously expecting her to flinch and bolt, but hoping, praying for the opposite.

She gasps at the contact, but allows herself to lean into his touch, falling slowly against his chest, until her head is resting just over his heart... And only then she can exhale...

He’s holding her close, gently rocking them both in the cool breeze, their eyes fixed on the hypnotizing buzz of the city bellow them, but their minds on each other, though years apart...

“ _What are you thinking?_ ” he whispers after a while, his warm breath tickling her ear.

She can feel goosebumps break out all over her flushed skin and she knows that it is not from being cold.

She turns around slowly, pulling herself up on her bare toes, her eyes fixed on his lips, willing him to bend down so that she can kiss him.... so that _he_ can kiss _her_. And he does oblige, his lips landing on hers, soft and wet and soothing like summer rain.

“I am thinking,” she says slowly, pausing between the kisses, sweet and tender, the tip of his tongue gently caressing hers...

“I’m thinking....” and her breath is lost to her – this feels so damn good and what she wants to do – what she really really wants to do – is to _stop_ thinking for once... _damnit_...

“...that I’d like to....” _This_. Right here. _This_ is what she wants...

“ _I want to do it right this time around_.”

She finishes and she can feel his lips smile against hers as he deepens his kiss, scooping her up in his arms, unable to resist any longer. He _needs_ her – now.


	10. Slow...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have to start looking at what part of me jumps into things too early and f**ks things up... Sometimes my reasons for doing things are not the best. It's like a childish reasoning; not informed or fully thought out. I just think I need to pause a bit more before I leap...” 
> 
> ~ Gillian Anderson for Evening Standard Magazine, January 19, 2007  
> http://www.gilliananderson.ws/transcripts/07_09/07es.shtml

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m slowing down the tune  
> I never liked it fast  
> You want to get there soon  
> I want to get there last
> 
> It’s not because I’m old  
> It’s not the life I led  
> I always liked it slow  
> That’s what my momma said
> 
> I always liked it slow:  
> I never liked it fast  
> With you it’s got to go:  
> With me it’s got to last
> 
> All your moves are swift  
> All your turns are tight  
> Let me catch my breath  
> I thought we had all night
> 
> I like to take my time  
> I like to linger as it flies  
> A weekend on your lips  
> A lifetime in your eyes
> 
> I’m slowing down the tune  
> I never liked it fast  
> You want to get there soon  
> I want to get there last
> 
> It’s not because I’m old  
> It’s not what dying does  
> I always liked it slow  
> Slow is in my blood
> 
> So baby let me go  
> You’re wanted back in town  
> In case they want to know  
> I’m just trying to slow it down
> 
> Leonard Cohen ~ Slow
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BPRPK5qU3Y4

She’s so light and warm in his arms and he suddenly realizes that he has no memory of ever holding her like that. Surely they must have done numerous photoshoots, but _this_ is for real and he can feel his knees buckle, not because of her weight, but because of the weight of his own heart suddenly filled to the brim with a new-found feeling. It’s desire, for sure, his hands palming the sweet curve of her thighs, his fingers kneading her soft skin just above those sexy binders, his face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, his tongue gliding languidly along her collar-bone and back up to her earlobe, tasting her skin and gently nipping at it, but there's so much more to it, a whirlwind of emotion, a madness shared by two.

 _It’s really happening_ , she thinks to herself with a start, feeling like a school-girl being asked out for the very first time. It’s exciting and so frightening at the same time – and she can’t believe that she would ever feel this way again... But his hands are burning through her dress, making her all tingly, setting her face aglow, his teeth grazing her skin, leaving tiny marks along the way, eliciting a mixture of exquisite pleasure and pain in every nerve, her heart beating in her throat, her breath catching and the blood in her temples pulsating in the same rhythm as his hips moving against her, grinding into her in an unbearably enticing way, and her brain chanting " _touch me, touch me, touch me..."_

Her fingers are tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, as if she can’t get close enough. There’s that familiar ache to make this happen, to let them combust and burn down to ashes, now... _now_... not soon enough, not close enough, not deep enough...

He can feel her squirm against him, crazy with need, impatient, the frustration creeping into her pretty face as her brows furrow and her lips purse on his – and he has to smile against them, against his will – it’s just _so_ her... And _she_ would tell _him_ that he had no patience with her...

_Dear Lord... 23 years... How much more patience does it take...?_

“ _Oh G*d_ ,” he hisses into her mouth, unable to take it anymore. He finally sets her back on the floor of the room, never once breaking contact with her skin, running his hands from her hips up along her sides, taking in her shape, stopping to let his thumbs rub along the swell of her breasts, ever so gently, still amazed by the sensation that is suddenly so new to him, before finally bringing them to her face, breaking their kiss to allow them to breathe – gasping for air, cupping her cheeks in his big warm palms, _stilling her_ , _willing her_ to look into his eyes, deep, dark and ablaze with raw desire – but there’s something else, something deeper than that. Something soft and fuzzy that makes her look away, because her own eyes are threatening tears again...

His thumbs are drawing circles along the perfect lines of her cheekbones and up and down her jaw-line, gently pulling up her chin now to make her _look_ at him. He _needs_ to _see_ her face – he needs her affirmation that _this_ , whatever it is, _is_ really happening and that it’s alright to make it happen. To let go... Because G*d knows he wants it so badly.

And this time she _won’t_ escape. She won’t run. Her eyes finally rest on his, boring into them with an intensity that makes him want her more than he ever thought possible, it’s like craving his fix, the old familiar feeling, crazy and desperate and scaring the sh*t out of him, because this is exactly how things get f*cked up – and yet – it’s like he can’t let go, not now that he knows what her skin tastes like and how she shivers under his fingers when he whispers in her ear. There is no doubt that the look in her eyes is a “ _yes”_ , but she adds a small nod and her eyelashes flutter as she zeroes in on his lips quivering with expectation and he exhales with joy and relief, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle any other answer.

Then his lips are hard on hers again as he slowly eases her down on the couch, his eyes never leaving hers, checking for her reaction, making sure that she does have an out should she change her mind, hope and fear rising and falling in his chest like the ever changing seas.

He blinks to focus his gaze on her, taking in her beauty, the regal features of her face, the perfect bone structure of her carefully etched cheekbones, the sharp nose and defined jaw-line finally reading just right through her porcelain skin, aglow in the soft light in the room and in his eyes, hers sparkling and alive, her lips wet and open for him, her skin so smooth and milky with splotches of freckles and several moles that he lets his lips rest upon, feeling a surge of power at the notion of marking her as _his_ – and immediately chasing that thought away, because he knows better than to ever even attempt to own her. She’s a dragonfly, a glimpse of light that can’t be captured and owned.

She can, however, be _held_ , and he’s holding her so close that she’s afraid he could crush her - and she wouldn't mind at all...

“ _Come here_ ,” she whispers incomprehensively through her ragged breaths, reaching for the lapels of his jacket and peeling it off his shoulders, her fingers already sliding under his shirt, trying to feel any free spot of his skin she can find... but once again he reaches for her hands to stop her, gently grabbing her wrists and pinning them down behind her head while leaning down to kiss her again, deeply, with passion, before trailing his way down her neck and chest, kissing just along the line of her dress, placing tiny bites on the softest spots of her breasts.

She’s gasping, urging him on, but she’s helpless without being able to use her hands and all she can do is arch her back and bring her hips against his, trying to feel him, the contact sending shivers down her spine and into all of her limbs. Her mind is still clear, she believes, she wants to believe, but her body has a mind of its own and it wants his to complete it, to make her whole again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've decided to write in smaller increments as it's more manageable. There will, of course, be more to this... and as always, here's a little tease:
> 
> I met a woman  
> She had a mouth like yours  
> She knew your life  
> She knew your devils and your deeds  
> And she said, "Go to him, stay with him if you can  
> but be prepared to bleed..."
> 
> Diana Krall ~ A Case Of You (written by Joni Mitchell)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aieYAlKWnoM
> 
> Big thanks to everyone who's stopped here to read and leave feedback. (Especially one of you ;))  
> That means a lot. xx


	11. Did I Ever Love You...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you love someone, set them free.  
> If they come back, they are yours.  
> If they don’t – they never were...”  
> (a proverb)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I ever love you  
> Did I ever need you  
> Did I ever fight you  
> Did I ever want to
> 
> Did I ever leave you  
> Was I ever able  
> Are we still leaning  
> Across the old table
> 
> Did I ever love you...
> 
> Was it ever settled  
> Was it ever over  
> And is it still raining  
> Back in November
> 
> The lemon trees blossom  
> The almond trees whither  
> Was I ever someone  
> Who could love you forever
> 
> Was it ever settled  
> Was it ever over  
> And is it still raining  
> Back in November
> 
> The lemon trees blossom  
> The almond trees whither  
> It’s Spring and it’s Summer  
> And it’s Winter forever
> 
> Did I ever love you  
> Does it really matter  
> Did I ever fight you  
> You don’t need to answer
> 
> Did I ever leave you  
> Was I ever able  
> Are we still leaning  
> Across the old table
> 
> Leonard Cohen ~ Did I Ever Love You...  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wo0C1_wb8yA

She opens her eyes and smiles at him, his intense look burning through her skin, fixed on the exquisite curve of her full lips, reddened with the rush of blood and his intense ministrations, parted in excitement, inviting...

“ _Come here_ ,” she’s whispering in his ear, squirming to get out of his hold, closer, _closer_ yet... Her voice is low and sultry, sending electric currents down his spine. He’s holding her down with his big steady hands, still and uncompromising, his strong, muscular arms wrapped around her petit torso in tight embrace, his face hovering over hers, their noses and lips brushing against each other, their eyes locked in the most intimate, naked look, seeing each other for the first time and forever – seeing through the layers of defenses, public appearances, fears and denial... Seeing the naked truth, for the first time...

“ _Touch me_ ,” she’s begging now, her voice barely audible, her lips never leaving his, her eyes wild with need...

He can’t believe what he’s hearing, but he loves it, teasing her, enjoying the shift of balance, gaining back his power, his strength, his dominance, though only for a brief period of time, he knows it. Because her hips keep arching against his and he’s losing all control. He wants her to take over, to take him, to show him what he’s only guessing is hiding behind those blazing eyes.

“ _Please...?_ ” she’s almost whimpering, like a little girl; the piercing sound of her wounded voice hurts his ears and, worried that he might be hurting her by holding her so tight, he lets go – suddenly, unexpectedly, her arms flying up and around his neck, pulling him in violently, her lips crushing on his, her teeth breaking the skin and tasting his blood, a brief apologetic look, before her eyes disappear behind a haze of desire.

\---

Their lips are still moving in silent cries, her hands immediately reaching for his shirt, her numb fingers helplessly fumbling with the buttons, until he finally takes pity in her, laughing inwardly at her lack of patience, and deftly undoes them himself, instantly feeling her hands on his stomach, taking a sharp breath and copying her movements, stroking the soft material of her dress draped tightly around her belly and hips, watching her tense slightly at his touch, before her face relaxes and her body gives in to him...

Her hands travel up to his shoulders, sliding off his shirt and exhaling with satisfaction at the feeling of his tense muscles under her fingers, twitching with every touch. She pulls herself up to be closer to him, still fully dressed, her chest heaving against his in anticipation, her nipples touching his through the layer of velvet and lace and he finds it extremely arousing.

He reaches out to touch them through her dress and she gasps, closing her eyes, her lips falling open and he accepts the invitation, running his tongue along them, his hands on her breasts, adding pressure with her intensifying moans and feeling every last bit of his self-control escaping him...

He wants to tear that dress off and just take her, but that thought still scares him, it suddenly seems almost too easy, too ordinary... and too fast. He wants to make this last, he _needs_ to, to take her all in. To imprint her in his memory, every last inch of her skin, every last breath, every last touch...

He lets his hands slide along the length of her body, stopping at the edge of her dress, smoothing it out over her hips and slowly moving down her thighs, finally undoing the clasps of her garter belt and rolling down the sheer nylons, one by one, making sure that his fingers rake softly over her skin, exciting, arousing, stimulating every nerve ending, followed closely by his mouth.

She’s watching him intently with those bright eyes, hooded by heavy eyelids, her look almost thankful, her breath coming out in little gasps as his long strong fingers work the length of her legs, stopping every once in a while to make room for his lips, sucking and soothing her burning skin, tasting her...

Lick...

after...

lick...

\---

Her skin is smooth and silky, tasting like coconut oil and milk and honey and he can’t seem to get enough, burying his face in her, breathing her in, sinking his teeth in her thigh, making her yelp – and immediately licking and soothing that spot, a mischievous grin breaking all over his face.

He’s got her. He’s got her this time and she is all his.

Even if it’s only for now. Even if this should never happen again. She is his and she is wanting him just as much as he wants her and all is right with the world...

He’s slowly massaging her legs, easing her muscles, rubbing her ankles, running his hands up her strong calves, feeling her wince slightly, as his fingers brush over a rough patch – a scar? He looks closely, straining his eyes in the dim light of the room, noticing a fairly fresh wound, a cut, clearly from a razor. He smiles, shaking his head at her clumsiness, her carelessness, her never changing ways, and brings his lips down to kiss it, ever so softly.

She stiffens slightly at the contact, but then again relaxes very easily into his touch, letting him take over, her body welcoming the attention, humming with pleasure and satisfaction, her breath and her voice soon following suit, letting him know quite clearly just how much she’s enjoying this, how good it feels to be loved on, whatever it means to him or to her at that moment...

That’s all they have – _moments_. Little capsules of time.

And she’s allowing herself to use one of those moments for herself. To give in to his touch, the warmth and the strength of his hands, his arms, holding her still.

She’s lying there with her eyes closed and her body opened to him, soft,  languid, her arms now thrown out, above her head and over her face, as if she’s giving up, giving in, his touch mesmerizing, his breath hot on her skin, the rhythm of his breathing soothing and yet incredibly arousing, his hips grinding into her, looking for release...

They are both still way overdressed for the party and she can feel his hands getting clammy with sweat, beads forming on his forehead and upper lip, his breathing ragged as he whispers her name –

“ _Gillian... oh G*d..._ ”

\- like a prayer and a curse...

She smiles and brings her hands up to his face, stroking his hair and his cheeks and his lips, pulling him down to make him kiss her and whispering in his mouth in the most seductive tone:

“ _Yes, David?_ ”

Her eyebrows shoot up, her lips forming a little grin.

“ _I want you_ ,” he manages to get out between gasps, “ _I..._ _want..." *_ gasp _* "...you..."_ *gasp*  _"_... _so... bad..."_

It sounds so stupid, so scripted almost, but they never had a script like that. This is real life and he’s aching for her, he needs her in ways he'd never allowed to cross his mind – and here he is, in a no-name hotel, holding her warm willing body in his arms, positioned just right between her strong white legs, open and inviting, and he’s crazy with need...

And then...

He can feel her hands snake between them, making him shiver and stifle a groan as she avoids the bulge in his pants to reach under her dress and pull off her panties, a scant piece of lace glistening with moisture, her scent immediately filling his nostrils and his head, the most welcomed kind of pain shooting straight to his groin with such intensity that he thinks he might be going mad...

And then...

Her hands finally find his belt, undoing it with surprising swiftness, her fingers immediately reaching inside, giving him a gentle stroke before pulling his pants down along with his underwear, leaving him naked, aroused and exposed and suddenly embarrassed, as if she’d never seen him that way... as if wanting her so badly was a fault, as if there was something wrong about all this...

And then...

Her eyes...

 _Her eyes, her eyes, her eyes_...

 _So beautiful, so blue, so wet_ , matching the wetness pouring out of her now, down her thighs touching his, skin on skin, fingers interlaced, lips on lips, sharing breath...

There is so much he wants to tell her – how beautiful she is, what she does to him, how much he wants to be inside her... but words fail him, there’s only breath and silent sign language of fingers, as she leads his hand to her center, asking him, once again, yet without saying a word, to touch her, to _feel_ her...

And he does...

Oh and _how_ he does... His fingers just barely brush against her skin, the softest, most sensitive spot, gently gliding over, his eyes never leaving hers, filled with wonder and lust... and she involuntarily arches into his palm, craving the contact, the friction, a release...

“ _Yesss_ ,” she hisses through her clenched teeth, biting her lips now to stifle her cries, making his head spin and his hips buck.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he whispers in her ear, his fingers never leaving their spot, alternating between gentle rubs and long strokes. Her eyes are on his, confused, with a faraway look, her lips dry, her tongue darting out in a desperate attempt to soothe them, which he immediately takes as an invitation to replace it by his own, licking and sucking and stroking and rubbing her, while whispering “ _don’t hold back_ ” as his kisses get sloppy and his strokes desperate...

And she won’t, she can’t hold back anymore... She reaches out for him, her hand firm and secure, grasping him tightly, making him gasp in return, deepening the kiss and mumbling incoherently into her mouth, as she fixes his gaze and with a very bold stare guides him inside, putting all of her strength into keeping her eyes open as she’s hit by the exquisite sensation of being filled by him, fulfilled and complete – at last... at _last_...

 

***

 

“Oh... _wow_ ,” she exhales against his lips when he finally pulls away for just long enough to give them both a moment to breathe, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing heavy, his eyes fluttering closed as emotions overwhelm him.

“You _are_ a good kisser,” she says with an air of wonder, her lips still stroking his, her eyes gentle on his face, followed by her fingers running along his jawline... His teeth are grazing her lips now, tender with desire, her voice vibrating against his breath, barely audible, but he prays that he had heard her right when she says:

“What the hell was I thinking...”

And she’s quite literally taking those words right out of his mouth -

What the hell _were_ they thinking all this time...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for my girls - namely for Katja for all your help with "research", finding links to interviews and discussing the endless possibilities with me till the wee hours, and for Ingrid and Lena for your undying support... I hope you like. Love always. xx


	12. Hey That's No Way To Say Goodbye...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I loved you in the morning,  
> our kisses deep and warm,  
> your hair upon the pillow  
> like a sleepy golden storm, 
> 
> yes, many loved before us,  
> I know that we are not new,  
> in city and in forest  
> they smiled like me and you,  
> but now it's come to distances  
> and both of us must try,  
> your eyes are soft with sorrow,  
> Hey, that's no way to say goodbye. 
> 
> I'm not looking for another  
> as I wander in my time,  
> walk me to the corner now,  
> our steps will always rhyme 
> 
> you know my love goes with you  
> as your love stays with me,  
> it's just the way it changes,  
> like the shoreline and the sea,  
> but let's not talk of love or chains  
> and things we can't untie,  
> your eyes are soft with sorrow,  
> Hey, that's no way to say goodbye. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQk3wyFG6Fg  
> Leonard Cohen ~ Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “This particular song is very poignant in my life right now...”  
> ~ Gillian Anderson for BBC podcast, 2004

She blinks herself awake, trying to get her eyes accustomed to the blinding light of the sun coming in through the balcony door that they had left open in last night’s frenzy –--

Last night...

Her hand instinctively reaches her mouth, feeling the burning scar of his lips on hers, his fingertips tangled in the messy strands of her golden hair, his breath on her skin, his hands on her thighs, her hips, her breasts – everywhere he touched her: a fingerprint, a mark, a hollow waiting to be filled...

She lets her own hands trace the path he left behind, still feeling the way he moved inside her, above her, strong, swift and beautiful, her inner walls embracing him with shocking power, their arms, their legs, their fingers interlaced, their bodies, lips and breaths becoming one, in one sacred moment stolen from time, refusing to let go until the tide changes –--

The images flood her mind like a giant wave, washing over her, making her blood rush to her face, filling her with warmth and making her shiver with cold at the same time...

\---

The air in the room is freezing and she can smell winter coming in from the ocean, her favourite scent, but then there’s all the other scents filling her head – the sweet and salty smell of the warm body enveloping her, the hot breath on her neck, the musky smell of sex...

_F*ck!_

She shudders, mentally bracing herself for the awkwardness of the dreaded “morning after”, the sense of regret and disappointment from the past too stuck to shake off. She's trying to roll over, to get out of bed and make a run for the bathroom, but his strong warm arm wraps tighter around her, pulling her closer, his fingers splayed across her stomach, while his other hand is resting under both of their heads, cradling hers in the crook of his neck and she knows that she's lost... She wiggles closer to him and feels him smile against her face...

The room is quiet, filled with only their breathing, the sounds from the outside silenced by the eerie stillness inside, and as much as she wants to relish the feeling for just a little longer, as much as she wants to believe that it's alright to just be happy in the moment, she can feel panic setting in and her familiar defences rising.

She takes a deep breath, licks her lips and sets her voice just right to sound casual as she finally gathers enough courage to roll over and face him.

" _Oh hey, Duc..._ " she starts, her voice sounding strange even to her, slipping in the familiar comfort of detachment, but he won't let her. Not this time. Not anymore.

His eyes are like honey, warm, yellow and stuck on hers, smiling as he puts a gentle finger on her mouth to silence her and kisses her softly, first in her hair, then on her forehead and cheeks and finally on her lips, brushing against them with a tender touch, all the time gathering her closer into him...

And all she can manage is breathe his real name into his mouth:

" _David..._ " hot and urgent, just like his mouth and his tongue on hers... " _David_..." gasping for air between desperate kisses... " _David_..." again and again and again - the constant pull of the tide between them...

And each of the times shoots straight through him, making him growl, rolling the sound of her name in return as he deepens the kiss until they can’t breathe anymore...

“ _Gillian... my l...”_

A pause. Just long enough for an angel to pass by... There’s so much he wants to say and suddenly all words escape him.

And then...

 _“Do you have any idea,"_  he breathes rather than says, swallowing hard in a futile attempt to calm his breath, his racing heart,  _"_ _how beautiful you are?"_

There's awe in his voice as he gently strokes her cheek with the backs of his fingers, her eyes suddenly soft, and there’s a moment of silence as they both contemplate the gravity of the words never spoken before...

“ _I don’t,”_ she finally responds, starry-eyed, lifting a corner of her mouth in mock offense, _“because you never told me_...”

She’s smiling coyly, but her words sound grave and she can feel tears rush into her eyes, something she had not expected, not after all this time... And yet...

“ _I did not..._ ” he says, regret creeping into his voice, his eyes tender on hers as he’s holding her close, “ _but I have always meant to.._.”

The tears brim over and silently fall down her cheeks before she can even reach up to swipe at them.

Her blue eyes soften with sudden sorrow that he notices immediately, before the first teardrop trickles through his fingers cradling her face, and he brings his lips to her cheek to kiss it away.

“ _Hey now_ ,” he soothes, his voice meant to comfort her, but souding so small as his own panic creeps in...

_F*ck..._

This is their last day. They didn’t mean to make it this hard... But life is never easy, is it...


	13. Let It Rain...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I remember one morning...  
> getting up at dawn...  
> there was such a sense of possibility!  
> You know? That feeling?  
> And... and I remember thinking to myself:  
> 'So this is the beginning of happiness...'  
> 'This is where it starts!'  
> 'And, of course, there'll always be more.'  
> Never occurred to me  
> it wasn't the beginning,  
> It was happiness.  
> It was the moment -  
> Right there."
> 
> Virginia Woolf: Mrs. Dalloway / Michael Cunningham: The Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you knew me you would stay  
> If you knew me you would walk away  
> We don’t get black and white  
> Ours is only shadowed light
> 
> This is how it goes:  
> One year's golden and the next one blows  
> It could be I am wrong  
> Mistaking breaking dusk for dawn  
> See I’ve heard all this before  
> My glass ceiling could be your ground floor  
> If I knew better I would stay  
> If I knew better I would walk away...  
> Like the earth that splits and moves  
> A woman by her fault is known  
> I don’t see cracks and sin  
> Only see how the light gets in  
> The grey sky it threatens rain above  
> As our love it threatens pain, my love  
> You can’t hurt the one you already left behind  
> Walk it back baby, take another breath, rewind  
> And let it rain, let it rain
> 
> There is nothing you could do  
> To make me turn my back on you  
> There is nothing you could say  
> I’ve imagined worse anyway
> 
> The waves break on the shore  
> The shore it only waits for more  
> Like the earth that splits in moves  
> A woman by her faults is known  
> I don’t see cracks and sin  
> Only see how the light gets it  
> The grey sky it threatens rain above  
> As our love it threatens pain, my love  
> You can’t hurt the one you’ve already left behind  
> Walk it back baby, take another breath, rewind  
> And let it rain  
> Let it rain...
> 
> David Duchovny ~ Let It Rain  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k8S7dsNPld4

... _and cut_...

That was it. The last frame of their last interview, last hug and kiss in front of the cameras and a long silent ride to the airport in the cold January sleet...

How many times have they done this... And yet...

Suddenly they did realize the undeniable truth... They were getting too old for this. Not old " _fuggedaboutit_ " old. He had only just turned 55 and she was still in her 40s... But there was a noticeable difference. They had so much life behind them... and sometimes they could feel it – feel how it's worn them out... But not right now - right now they were alive, aware of all the emotions they had tried so hard to suppress when they were apart...

Their little ordeals they had been through... Their f*cked up marriages and little escapes, the stupid addictions from their youth creeping back in to fill the void they had left in each other’s life, to cover the silence...

He made a few feeble attempts at a joke and she swatted at him playfully, trying to downplay the way she really felt, but she wasn't fooling anyone. He knew her too well... He threaded his fingers with hers, squeezing tight, stilling their hands in her lap, while his other hand reached down to her face to turn it to him, ever so gently – and there it was again – a single tear glistening in the corner of her eye before silently rolling down her cheek... She didn't even attempt to wipe it away as she would have in the past. The magic of the moment was gone, the playfulness long forgotten - and the heaviness of life weighing on them heavily...

" _What is it, G_ ," he says softly, almost whispering. Almost _afraid_...

" _It's nothing_ ," she smiles, but she's not appeasing him...

" _You're not fooling me, **Scully**..._ "

 _Damn_ , it just slipped out of his mouth, before he realized that it wasn't going to make her feel any better...

So much has changed... The name, that time held all the memories of what used to be and could have been... all the crazy mixed up feelings they were trying so hard to suppress or let go of... and just allowing themselves to go back to those days was threatening pain...

And it finally hit her that all of her running, her attempts to get as far from _Scully_ as possible, have always been fueled by just this – her need to detach herself from these emotions – from the need to have him close, her yearning for her _Mulder_...

And there he was – again – suddenly touching her in a way she hadn't been touched in such a long time – and certainly not by him... And she could feel and almost hear her walls crumbling and her heart giving in... She _was_ _his_... she always _has_ been... and she didn't know how to let go anymore...

**_Damnit..._ **

They were both adults, more than old enough to have the lives they always wanted – but there were " _circumstances_ ".... complications... all of the life they had lived "in the meantime"... They had a history now – so much to drag along with them... And most importantly - they had their _children_.

And knowing _him,_ being a mother herself, she knew damn well that he would never leave his kids behind, no matter how old and independent they were, no matter what has ever happened between him and their mother – he was their daddy and she knew how much it meant to him. With everything that had gone wrong in his – in _their_ \- life, this was one thing he felt he had done right and he wasn't going to f*ck this one up...

As for her, there was no way in hell she was going to rip her boys out of their comforting semblance of "a normal life" in London that she had worked so hard to create for them... Besides, they had a father, too.

So they were stuck...

In a _landslide_...


	14. Quiet // Intermezzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All of a sudden I think he was more aware of it and was being really mindful... I blocked it out until the last moment where all of a sudden it hit me, that this person that I was standing in front of as I know him and have known him for such a long time, that this aspect of our relationship was coming to a close. We embraced and I just burst into tears. We held our embrace for a really long time and I think it was just flooding over us, the importance of this agreement that we've had to be in each other's lives in a very powerful way...”  
>   
> ~ Gillian Anderson, Dreamwatch, January 2002

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby says I cannot come with him  
> And I had read all of this in his eyes  
> Long before he even said so  
> Why go, I asked  
> You know and I know why  
> And it'll be just as quiet when I leave  
> As it was when I first got here  
> I don't expect anything  
> I don't expect anything...
> 
> Take care  
> I've been hurt before  
> Too much time spent on closing doors  
> You may hate me, but I'll remember to love you  
> Goodbye  
> Don't cry  
> You know why  
> And it'll be just as quiet when I leave  
> As it was when I first got here  
> I don't expect anything  
> I don't expect anything...
> 
> All the waves of blame arrange as broken scenery  
> As they steal your best memories away  
> What if I was someone different in your only history?  
> Would you feel the same  
> As I walk out the door  
> Never to see your face again  
> Never to see your face again
> 
> And it'll be just as quiet when I leave  
> As it was when I first got here  
> It'll be just as quiet when I leave  
> As it was when I first got here  
> I don't expect anything  
> I don't expect anything to change when I leave
> 
> Rachael Yamagata ~ Quiet  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcSM0v9XcWA

The first thing that strikes him after she leaves is how incredibly _quiet_ his world got ever since he saw her face that he grew so accustomed to seeing floating around him, beneath him, above him, disappear behind the glass door at the airport security point, leaving him staring blindly at its mirror side, feeling a sudden urge to touch the cold glass with his warm hand in hopes that she would be touching it from the other side, that he could still somehow _feel_ her, wondering if she is still there, on the other side, so close and yet so far, maybe still looking at him, for him, still searching his eyes for something – an answer or a question... He didn’t know...

All he knew was that the silence was deafening and he almost felt like covering his ears and running away...

But instead, he is going to be the adult that he is, walk over to the counter, stand on line with the rest of the people, enjoying the rare occasion of being just one of them, buy the first ticket to LA and ride home in perfect silence to pack and get the f*ck out of here.

***

It’s his arms that she’s left with. Like a phantom limb, she can still feel them around her shoulders, even though it has been a whole 9 minutes since their last embrace, since the moment she had allowed herself to melt into him one last time...

She’s always hated long, teary, sappy goodbyes, and had honestly tried her damndest to play it cool, but once again the _woman_ in her took over the actress and she found herself clinging to him, digging her nails into his arms and back, her face buried in his chest, messing up his crisp clean shirt with that fine mixture of mascara and tears...

***

“ _Tears. He had no idea how to say tears._ ”

The line got stuck in his head from his English Literature classes and it keeps whirling in his mind, irritating, because he cannot for the life of him think of the name of the author.                                                                                                  

That’s what he does, his go-to escape. Thinking of passages from his favourite novels, making up words, replaying baseball or basketball games, counting and re-counting the scores... _NOT_ thinking of her face... or her taste... her lips on his... _damn it_...

It’s been 9 minutes since that damn glass door separated their worlds once again... How many times have they done that in the past...? _So much time spent on the closing door..._ And yet, it seemed easy back then. It was never an end, they didn’t have an end... So why does it suddenly feel so fatal now...? Why does his heart go so quiet in his chest and why is it so hard for him to breathe?

The lack of her presence is so tangible and once again he’s amazed at how such a tiny person could have filled so much space... How much void she would leave behind...

And he has no idea how he is going to fill it...  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to get an idea of what's been going on in this intermezzo, here is a beautifully written fic that will absolutely fill all the gaps... Wonderful job! 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/6308008/chapters/14453911
> 
> Also, just for the record: the "Tears, he had no idea how to say tears" quote is from "The French Lieutenant's Woman", a novel by John Fowles. You're welcome :)


	15. Landslide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is fascinating to me about life, is that the most important people in our lives are those who bring us the most pain."  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, Times Magazine, October 21, 2000
> 
> Q: Which song would you choose to describe yourself?  
> A: Landslide - Fleetwood Mac  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, Tumblr Answer Time, June 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took my love, took it down  
> I climbed a mountain and I turned around  
> And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills  
> 'Til the landslide brought me down
> 
> Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?  
> Can the child within my heart rise above?  
> Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?  
> Can I handle the seasons of my life?
> 
> Well, I've been afraid of changing  
> 'Cause I've built my life around you  
> But time made you bolder  
> Even children get older  
> And I'm getting older too...
> 
> Fleetwood Mac ~ Landslide  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WM7-PYtXtJM

It’s raining in London, of course it is. It’s _always_ raining in London. Just like it’s _always_ raining in the song that she must have listened to a thousand times on the seven hour long transatlantic flight. And lately it’s _always_ _December_. Or January. Whatever...

She’s standing on her terrace overlooking the quiet streets with randomly scattered Saturday morning walkers, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the way the raindrops touch and soothe her skin... It’s been a week since she came back from New York and her skin is still burning, it never went away. She runs her hands over her crossed arms, throwing her head back and letting the gentle fingertips of rain stroke her face and her exposed neck – the way _he_ did. The freezing cold water runs down her chest and between her breasts, her nipples taut against the thin layer of cotton of an oversized black-and-grey long-sleeve shirt that she’s wearing.

Yes, she’s back to smoking, of course she is. It didn’t take long to slip back into the habit, her go-to distraction from the inconvenience of reality, from being _present_ in the moment, from _feeling in touch_ with her emotions... But also, ironically enough (in its own f*cked up way), it brings back a memory of his lips on hers, his hot breath on her neck and his warm – oh so warm and strong – hands on her hips and around her waist, his long sensual fingers splayed across her stomach as he slowly peeled her away from the railing of the balcony and into his chest...

Just the memory itself makes her skin tingle and her own chest ache for him, his touch, in the old pathetic Victorian way – _ache, pang_...

_F*CK!_

She’s inhaling deep into her lungs, hungrily, trying to silence her thoughts, her needs, this f*cking craziness that she had managed to escape /more or less successfully/ for over two decades... Sure, it isn’t the first time she’s feeling this kind of pain... She has been through her share of _relationshit_ insanity... It isn’t the first time the pain is directly linked to him, either... Not by far... With twenty years of a relationship as intense and as turbulent as theirs you can hardly avoid some heartache... But she never expected this...

Walking around like a soul-less shell of the woman that she used to be, the woman that he had brought out of her, along with the light in her eyes, building her up over the years – only to tear her down with just one disapproving look, a smirk, a hand pulled away from hers...

The _look_ he gave her the first time they ever met...

 _Her_ , a completely inexperienced, yet far from innocent, 20-something, basically dressed in punk-rags that she _thought_ were cool, wearing the only pair of boots she owned, a heavy layer of eyeliner and a stuck-up pout to keep the unwanted attention away from her.

 _Him_ , 33, Jesus year, at his prime – a Yale grad with piercing intellect, bedroom eyes, hair on fleek and a body of a young Greek god... She could keep telling herself that she could not care less, but she could not _not_ notice him... Everybody did. All the girls just kept gazing at him – and then at _her_ as he stopped in his tracks right in front of her, suddenly strangely pulled to her, and finally asked her name...

She was cool and collected back then, when life was just a game, answering his questions in her well practiced New York accent, which seemed to appeal to him, because he kept lingering around – and then of course she had to go and f*ck it up... When he asked where she was from, she said “ _New York_ ,” which is clearly an answer no true New-Yorker would ever give, and she saw his face fall as she added with her disarming honesty: “ _Well I’ve only lived there for a year and a half now..._ ” – and that was it – he turned on the heel of his impressively long foot and mooooved on...

So that was that – the beginning of the perpetual pull of the tide between them – the constant rise and fall with an occasional shitstorm...

She can see the pattern now – periods of really great, fulfilling cooperation and complicity – just gliding on the surf, letting the waves roll over them – and then there were days when the waves of frustration, anger, disappointment and unspoken hurt would continually crush at their walls of self-preservation, tearing down their defences and leaving them raw and exposed...

There were times when they needed each other and _were there_ for each other – and times they couldn’t stand each other... But no matter how bleak things may have seemed at any particular time, they have always, always been present in each other’s lives – one way or another...

They were just fine with the way things had been last spring... Their peaceful co-existence, _togetherness_...

And of course, in her true fashion, she had to go and f*ck it up again...

Because, as always, she was just being reckless... Because she wanted more than what they had... And hell she still does...

\---

She turns around with a start at the sound of the sliding door opening and closing behind her and attempts a small smile when she finds herself face to face with her daughter, standing there quietly, mimicking her own posture with her arms crossed over her chest, her messy blonde hair falling down across her face and over her shoulders, her look quizzical...

“ _Mum...?_ ” – is all she says, but the 3 letters of that simple word are full of questions that she’s almost afraid to ask...

She’s 21, hardly a kid anymore, and she’s been around her mother for long enough to be able to detect the slight sea changes, the drift of tide...

“ _Mum_ ,” she repeats, this time with more fervor, gently touching her forearm and rubbing it with her slim fingers.

“ _Yes, baby,_ ” she finally responds, as if emerging from thick fog, quickly putting out her cigarette and raising an eyebrow at her.

“ _Mum, what’s happening?”_ her daughter asks, just like the _Little Prince_ , never leaving a question she once asked, until she gets her answer.

 _(Oh G*d_ , she thinks to herself, _it really is like looking at myself 20 years ago...)_

“ _Are you alright?_ ”

_(The kid is just unrelenting!)_

“ _Yeeeah_ ,” she says slowly, as if waking up from a dream, finally feeling the bitter cold biting at her skin and she begins to shake violently.

_“And what the f*ck are you wearing?”_

She looks down at herself, as if she needed to check, as if it hadn’t been the same thing for the past 6 days, 2 hours and a few minutes... _His s_ hirt. One he must have snuck into her suitcase and she’s been wearing it ever since, foolishly imagining that she can _still_ smell his unmistakable scent and feel his warmth enveloping her as she continues to rub it against her skin, shivering with cold.

“ _I will be_ ,” she finally says, still stuck on the previous question and ignoring the last one, hoping that she is right.

“ _Mum...”_ Piper won’t let go of her arm and her eyes, pulling her back into the house...

\---

It’s warm and cozy in the living room filled with a comforting scent of hot mint tea, cinnamon and clover, the fire’s burning and there’s music playing softly in the background that she is suddenly so acutely aware of...                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

**_I'll find a way to see you again..._ **

_<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3xiJL7s6Eac> _

_(Great, just what she needed...)_

The voice of _Rachael Yamagata_ is tender and touching, breaking at all the right spots as she sings:

_**T**_ _**he rain is like an orchestra to me** _

_**Little gifts from above meant to say:** _

_**Girl, you falling at his feet** _

_**Isn't lovely or stunning today** _

_**Wait with me, wait with me I'm alive** _

_**when you're here with me, here with me, stay...** _

_**And I'll find a way to see you again...** _

_Damn_... She knows that she couldn’t possibly have stayed and of course there was no way for him to follow her... They both _knew_ it, coming in... not that they had done much thinking, leave alone _talking_ “coming in”, but still... It has always been _understood_ that nothing would change between them...

Until it did...

**_Why do the street lamps die_ **

**_When you're passing by_ **

**_Like a hand that won't stay on my shoulder tonight_ **

**_I_** **_f you held me close, would you laugh it away_ **

**_Would you dare the glance that I steal to stay..._ **

She can feel three pairs of eyes on her – her daughter’s concerned look, endearing yet unnerving at the same time, because there's no way to escape it, and then those innocent eyes of both of her sons, sitting on the hardwood floor, playing with their Lego’s, looking up at her every now and again, well aware that something is not right, that their mother is not present, even though she is in the same room with them...

She feels stuck, unable to move...

She needs to busy herself, to pull herself together, throw herself into work, life... anything, _anything_...                                                  

 _She goes for a swim,_ letting the water envelop her – only to be reminded of his hands on her again.

 _She tries yoga,_ but all of her meditations end up with his smiling face floating behind her closed eyelids and her breathing trying to get in sync with his.

 _She does go for a run_ the next day, but the rush she finally feels only brings back memories of the way he made her feel and makes her miss him even more...

She needs to see him, to hear his voice, to have him... _Again_.

_\---_

**_And I'll find a way to see you again..._ **

**_The rain will bring me down..._ **


	16. A Thing About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We shared such an important chunk of our lives, and now this person I once knew intimately is no longer around. I miss his humor and his presence...”  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, USA Weekend Oct 14, 2001
> 
> "I would still call her or write to her, after she moved back to the UK..."  
> ~ David Duchovny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pick up the phone,  
> I'm dialing your number  
> While I pray you're at home,  
> At home and alone  
> Cause I can't function on my own  
> And I'll never stop believing
> 
> The reaping is done,  
> You are the one  
> The radio is on but the sound is all gone  
> And I want to walk out in the sun  
> But lately that's been very hard to do
> 
> I've got a thing about you  
> And I don't really know what to do  
> Cause I've got a thing about you
> 
> I pick up the phone,  
> I'm dialing that number  
> And my heart like a stone  
> Waits for the tone  
> Oh I can't make it on my own  
> And I'll never stop believing
> 
> I know what is right and this is so wrong  
> Alone in my bed, better off on my own  
> The TV is on but the colors are gone  
> And lately you've been painting my world blue
> 
> I've got a thing about you
> 
> Roxette ~ A Thing About You  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSlncHYgIeo

Every now and again she’d call him, claiming that she just wanted to hear him, her own voice small and strangled, trailing off into awkward silence, sometimes interrupted by a nervous laughter and he’s picturing her as a little girl with haunted eyes. He missed her eyes the most and what she conveyed through them. And then of course her _hands_ – in his mind she’s holding on to the phone like to a life-line, her knuckles turning white, and the thought makes him sad, as he’d much rather have her fingers laced through his, something unthinkable that has somehow along the way become so important, a vital connection, more intimate than any other he could think of.

So this is what they have been reduced to now – calls. Night calls for her, day calls for him – the time difference messing with their schedules, as well as their heads. He used to think that he was fairly smart /actually scratch that, he  _was f*cking smart_ /, but swear to G*d, adding an eight to any bloody hour of his days suddenly feels like too much – it _is_ too much, a heartbreaking effort when all he wants is to hold her, feel her in his arms again, warm and vivid – so very much alive, a perfect opposite of the washed-out and airbrushed images of “perfect beauty” that keep popping up at him from assorted beauty magazines.

They don’t say much, what is there to say, anyway, their lives are pretty well covered by the media, giving them the unique chance to learn facts that they didn’t know about the other (or themselves for that matter) and didn’t care to know. He has to admit to himself though (as embarrassing as it is) that he does check the internet for anything related to her, always hopeful to find her eyes looking back at him the way they did when they were saying goodbye – the **_longing_** threatening to overflow and spill blood-red at his feet...

Seeing each other in glossy photographs on magazine covers felt especially strange, as in his mind that was so far removed from the _intimate_ way they knew each other. They knew and missed the _real_ people, flesh and blood, with messy hair and blood-shot eyes and morning breath... They missed each other on the most basic level – the imperfections that only they knew about each other making them the more perfect.

He missed her freckles, most of all, he didn’t care for the perfect makeup, he cared for _her_. He wanted _her_. And every photo-shoot that she opted to do with naked face felt like a special treat to him, a nod to his obsession with her skin, her purity. When he looked into her eyes in one of those photographs, he could almost fool himself into believing that she _was_ looking back into his, even across the ocean, even with thousands of miles and an 8 hour time difference between them, he could almost _feel_ her then.

But mostly they only just listen to each other’s breathing, taking fleeting comfort in the familiar steady rhythm, until reality kicks in and one of them (or frequently both) will get called away by work or a child that needs to be tended to and they can’t deny that sometimes it is a welcomed distraction from the heartbreaking sense of void they had left behind in each other’s life that they have yet been unable to fill...      


	17. Meet Me By The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She's a really hardworking actress. When you're tired and you want to move on, she stays in there. She always tries to do it as well as she can, despite fatigue or lack of attention. And that can be pretty inspiring--and pretty infuriating."  
> ~ David Duchovny, E! Online, June 1998
> 
> “Somehow, something in me recognized something in her and I became determined to play her.“  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, Brooklyn Eagle, April 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you please meet me by the water, baby  
> We'll have a really good time  
> Would you please meet me by the water, baby  
> 'Cause I can't get you off of my mind
> 
> I've been thinking everyday about you  
> Don't fit anywhere into my life, but that's okay  
> 'Cause I think I might be right for you  
> And because of that, I'm not scared at all  
> And everyone says I'm crazy  
> And everyone says I'm a fool  
> Would you meet me by the water tonight  
> 'Cause I'm ready to break all the rules
> 
> Please don't leave me standing  
> With my heart in my hand  
> I can't last here  
> I'm breaking down,  
> And no one understands why I got here  
> But I knew from the very first moment  
> That I met you  
> You'd be the one
> 
> Would you meet me by the water tonight  
> Would you please fall asleep  
> Holding my hand  
> 'Cause I've got everything in store for you, baby  
> If you'll be my man
> 
> Rachael Yamagata ~ Meet Me By The Water  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6Sh8T-nxiQ

The next time he sees her, she’s throwing herself against the cold metal stage in a haze of absolute concentration on her character and complete abandonment of anything else that doesn’t matter at that moment. He had never seen her quite like that and is mesmerized and horrified at the same time, his heart rising in his chest and aching to step up and just scoop her in his arms and carry her away from there...

This was his dearest friend, his co-worker, co-star, comrade in arms, the one at the other end of the rope, the one he knew better than anyone and who knew everything about him... and yet – looking at her now, here, in this particular moment, this play, this part, he wasn’t sure if he ever knew her at all... Her transformation was so overpowering that she suddenly seemed like a perfect stranger to him and he kept searching in vain for signs of the woman he had held in his arms 3 long months ago, his heart soaring every time he thought he had caught a glimpse of her...

\---

He was hesitant at first about coming to see her, not wanting to be an unwelcomed distraction and at a loss as to where they stood after the much too long separation, but watching her now, so oblivious to everything else going on around her, he did realize how foolish he had been and how full of himself to even think that he would matter at this point.

He would read all of the raving reviews of the play (realizing now how some of them seemed to have missed the point of it completely, how typical) and he’d be seeing the same pictures of her – her curled blonde hair, her messy theatrical make-up, her torn dress revealing parts of her body that he didn’t get to see nearly enough, appreciative of her petite figure, still fit with a strong back and muscular arms, but disturbed by the fact that her frame seemed to be getting smaller night after night and sometimes he’d find himself staring at those photos for long minutes in silent reverie, picturing himself wrapping his arms around her just to hold those parts together, to keep her from falling apart...

_You didn't see me, I was falling apart_

_I was a television version of a person with a broken heart..._

_https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3C6Bl2Z3S38_

\---

It took two weeks and three long shattering hours till he was finally able to do just that...

His heart was trembling when he knocked on the door of her dressing room and then he could almost feel it come to a complete stop when the door opened and her eyes bored into his – _beautiful, blue and wet_ – a look of shock and something else, prayerfully beautiful, crossing her face, her tiny hand, clutching the flamboyant red silk robe close to her burning skin, suddenly letting go, revealing an ample view of her white breast, rising and falling with each breath like a bird in flight, before she walked into his arms without a word, in a quiet surrender, and almost immediately he could feel her bony shoulders shiver under his shy touch and the front of his shirt getting soaked with hot tears...

\---

When she finally looks up at him, her child-like fingers still digging into his arms with desperation, her face is shattered under the thick layer of makeup, her eyes strangely hollow in the stark light of the room, as if all of her life had evaporated from them, and he wants so badly to kiss them back to life.

But instead he’s just smoothing her wet messy hair with clumsy fingers, unable to still his hands or his mind, racing with all possible scenarios of what was going on with her when she was out of his sight and his arms...

Long moments pass between them with just their foreheads touching, their breathing stilling, getting in sync with the other, contemplating. He then puts a small kiss on top of her head and makes to leave, followed by an instant panicked look and an almost inaudible gasp. He stops in his tracks with half a smile, pointing his arm at the door:

“Tell you what, I’m gonna let you finish here and then I’m taking you out for dinner. You look like you could really use some proper food.”

His tone is firm, almost chastising, but the timbre of the voice underneath is tender and soothing and like so many times before she finds herself unable (and _unwilling_ ) to say _“no”_ to him.

She gives him a small nod and lets the silk slide off her shoulders with a gentle rustling sound while he’s still in the room, willing him to not leave.

***

They stroll down to the Brooklyn Harbor, waves whispering gently against the rocky pier, the sparkling reflection of full moon illuminating the calm surface of the bay, the cool breeze tasting like salt and kisses...

The whole atmosphere is so beautiful and romantic, so “date-like” that it freaks her out. He has been quiet, but every inch of his strong body is filled with nervous energy – she can feel it in his hands, his long fingers, tightly wrapped around hers, trembling and fidgety.

She can’t remember ever seeing him like that, except maybe that one night he told her about the date he’d had, which wasn’t anything unusual, he had the world lying at his feel at that time, but somehow this one was different - he kept stuttering, stumbling over his own words and she knew that whatever was going on there was life-changing, something of utter importance... and things would never be the same...

The wind picks up, pulling in a particularly tall wave and the water comes crashing on the stone with violent force, washing over the pier, over the past.

With that thought in her mind she suddenly stops in her tracks, turning on her heel to face him. Not expecting that, his body keeps going with the momentum of his long stride and she braces herself with her arms, resting the palms of her hands on his chest, pressing firmly to stop him.

“ ** _Kiss me_** ,” she says without hesitance, in a low husky voice, straining on her feet to reach up to him.

Momentarily taken aback, he lets a small chuckle escape his mouth before exhaling sharply and bringing his warm hands to her face, holding it still, as once again he brings his lips to her forehead, placing a gentle kiss there while inhaling the sweet scent of her hair, her skin, aglow in the moonlight, taking her all in. She’s smiling up at him and for the first time tonight the smile reaches all the way to her eyes. He happily kisses her eyelids, ever so tenderly, his fingers gently raking through her soft hair, pulling her closer.

The heat finally breaks, the salty breeze pulling out strands of her hair that he keeps trying to tuck back behind her ears, but the wind keeps winning. He gives up, kissing just behind her ear and she shivers and gasps with pleasure. She’s squirming in his arms, trying to get closer.

“ ** _Kiss me_** ,” she demands now, her voice just a hiss. She’s getting impatient, her lips tingling for his, and he gladly obliges, pressing his mouth on hers, finding her lips soft and wet and already open, inviting him in. Their tongues clash against each other before embracing happily, exploring each other’s taste, stirring up their desire. He’s pulling her into him to deepen the kiss, desperate to _feel_ her near him, to touch her skin, to feel her warm hands on his.

 _I missed you~~~I missed you~~~I missed you_ , the waves keep whispering around them as their hands blindly read each other, their breathing becoming ragged, until she finally has to pull away to catch her breath. They let their foreheads rest against each other as they hold each other in a tight embrace, their noses nuzzling. There’s something shy, something “ _first-date-ish_ ” about it and she’s kind of liking it, but she also needs more...

“ _Are you gonna take me home tonight?_ ” she asks him sheepishly and he gives her a confused look. Where _is_ home? He wants so badly to take her to _his_ place, as foolish as it may be, somehow he wants to believe that once she’s there, she won’t leave again. And even if he knows that she _will_ eventually, at least her presence would linger in his rooms, the walls would echo with the unmistakable sound of her laugher and her scent would fill his bedroom...

Her eyes are on his, grave, but the spark is back and he loves her more now than he’s ever had, when she cocks her head and bats her eyelashes at him like a school girl before leaning in closer, pulling his head down to touch her lips to his ear and whisper a sweet “ _please..._?”


	18. Watch Out For Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think as you get older, I think if you’re lucky, if you’re maturing, the stuff that used to bother you, the little things, kinda of evaporate and all that’s left is the heart, and that’s all we have left - just total appreciation of one another.”  
> ~ David Duchovny on WAAF, November 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out for love  
> (unless it is true, and every part of you says *yes* including the toes) ,  
> it will wrap you up like a mummy,  
> and your scream won't be heard  
> and none of your running will end.
> 
> Love? Be it man. Be it woman.  
> It must be a wave you want to glide in on,  
> give your body to it, give your laugh to it,  
> give, when the gravelly sand takes you,  
> your tears to the land. To love another is something  
> like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall  
> into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
> 
> Anne Sexton ~ Admonitions To A Special Person

****

He had to wake her when the taxi finally brought them home and her head is still heavy on his shoulder when they stumble into his apartment.

It is already 1am and she looks as if she’s been up for days – and she probably has.

“ _I can’t sleep_ ,” she says with no emotion – and then tenderness creeps in when, against her better judgment, she adds “ _without you._..”

Even completely exhausted, she is still so beautiful and strangely fragile, it takes his breath away and makes him kick himself for not noticing (or _appreciating_ ) that sooner – _what the hell was he thinking_?

He is still the same person – and yet all those emotions seem so new to him... He cares for her so deeply that he can’t put it in words (he, “ _who’s so good with words and at keeping things vague..._ ”) But maybe he _could_ show her... If only he knew how... He’s far from babying her, but he wants to do something nice for her. It has been such a long time since he’s done this and he feels self-conscious, but also strangely hopeful... Maybe there _is_ hope... Maybe this time they _will_ get it right... 

He holds her close, kissing her hair and smoothing it out along her face before capturing her lips again and kissing her sweetly. She purrs into his mouth and he can feel the desire stir. _He could pin her against the door and take her right here -_  a fleeting thought... Something he probably would have done in the past... Except that he never did. Not to her, anyway. She is just too precious, too vulnerable right now and it would feel like taking advantage of her if he did...

Scenes from the play keep flashing through his mind and he almost has to force himself to detach what he’s seen from the person standing in front of him, so exposed, raw and completely at his mercy.

“ _Hey babe_ ,” he whispers softly, running his hands down her shoulders and arms, gently rubbing her to soothe, not excite, “you’re falling asleep on me...”

He tilts her head up to make her look at him, to make sure she understands what he is saying. Her eyes are almost blank, but her hands are roaming over the torso of his body, slipping under his leather jacket and his shirt, finding his skin and instantly burning through it.

He stills her hands with his and searches her eyes.

“How about I run you a nice relaxing bath and then tuck you in?” he suggests with a serious look, letting her know that it’s not up for discussion. She needs her sleep and he is so worried about her not getting enough. She wants to protest, all she wants is _him –_ his hands and lips _on her – everywhere..._ but she can’t even get the words out and he won't let her show him...

Instead he extricates himself from her arms, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom. They walk through the hallway and she finally notices the bench covered in small throw-pillows of various sizes, shapes and colours. She smiles. She knows those pillows – she’s been sending them to him over the years when they weren’t together; there is a good dozen of them, one for every birthday and maybe one or two from places special to her heart – like this one with the elephant that she got him in Sri Lanka... She remembers that one especially, because she has a twin one – a mirrored image of the same elephant in different colours – in her summer house that he knows nothing about. _She’d like to take him there one day_ , she thinks, which shocks her, because that house is her sanctuary that no one is allowed in but her children and immediate family. She squeezes his hand, looking up at him briefly, wondering if he’d qualify for that.

The apartment is decorated in a very minimalistic way if you will, in other words you can tell that it’s an apartment of a single man (or, in his case, a fairly freshly divorced one, still licking his wounds late at night). He doesn’t spend much time here and maybe he doesn’t even want to get attached to anything personal. All he really needs is his office, his bedroom with a bathroom and of course rooms for the kids.

His bedroom is dark, the shades closed, not letting in any of the light and noise from the street. He walks her in, turns on a lamp on the side-table and motions for her to sit down on the bed. She complies and he kneels down to her feet ( _that’s a first_ , she thinks with a playful delight) to help her remove her shoes.

“You really need to get rid of these damn things,” he chastises her as he inspects her insanely high heels before putting them down and grabbing her feet, one by one, to give them a gentle rub. He skims up her calves and hears her inhale sharply as his fingers graze the soft skin on the back of her knees and then mindlessly roam up her thighs... For a moment he’s lost in the bliss of having her this close again, of being able to feel her skin under his fingers, to _smell_ her... and he realizes just how very thankful he is, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of the feeling.

He lets his head drop in her lap, taking deep breaths to inhale her scent, and she gathers it in her hands, running her fingers through his soft, spiky hair, leaning down to kiss him.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she whispers. It has been such a long time since anyone was taking care of her like that. Since anyone cared, really.

Then he gets up abruptly, pulling her in for another quick kiss on the lips.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers in her ear, letting his hand slide down her shoulder before he disappears in the bathroom.

\---

She feels like she’s floating, walking on air, his voice filling her ears, his words resonating in her head and his hands on her skin... It feels so good being surrounded by him, having him close... It feels good and safe and... like home...

\---

When he comes back a few minutes later, he finds her fast asleep, sprawled on top of the comforter, still fully dressed, one hand thrown behind her head and one over her face. She looks so sweet and innocent in her sleep. It fills him with a sense of wonder, just letting it sink in – the fact that she is really here, in his apartment, his bed, his arms... as he slowly eases himself next to her, the bath long forgotten. He’d like to get her out of her clothes, but doesn’t want to risk waking her, so he only pulls down the comforter from under her and gently tucks her in, curling himself against her as close as he can, and feeling his heart (and yes, his other body parts as well) swell for her.

***

She wakes up in the middle of the night (her morning, as she has still not gotten over the time difference), slides off the bed as quietly as she can, making sure that she doesn’t wake him, and plops to the bathroom on her unsteady bare feet. After turning on the night light, a small chuckle escapes her mouth as her sleepy eyes fall upon the toilet, the seat lifted.

How long has it been since that has happened to her...? She hasn’t shared a household with anyone in over 3 years. And even then she had her own bathroom. She puts it down, thinking how ironic it is that what she would have found extremely rude and annoying in the past, suddenly feels so endearing. Because it means that there is another human being sleeping just within reach, a _male_ human being with rough hands and soft touch and strong arms to keep her safe ---

“ _Heeey_...”

\--- the sound of his voice startles her, even if it’s just a whisper, as she would certainly not expect him here, now, his quite imposing torso leaning causally against the doorframe, his bright eyes studying her intently.

“ _David!_ ” she exclaims, part genuine start, part feigned annoyance... “ _What the f*ck are you doing?!_ ”

“Watching you,” he says very calmly, a gentle smile gracing his beautiful face.

“ _Oh dear G*d_ ,” she mumbles, letting her head drop in her hands to cover the smile that he knows is there, “you’re watching me _pee_ now?”

“Well _I’m sorry_ ,” he lifts his hands in (mock) defence, “I couldn’t help it – I woke up, you weren’t there and...” His voice trails off as his eyes grow soft and he steps into the small room to lean in and kiss her on the top of her head - “ _I missed you_.”

And it comes out so tender, so genuine, so sweet that she could cry... She reaches up to his waist to pull him closer, her head barely resting on his abdomen when he wraps himself around her for a moment before pulling away.

“Hurry up, I gotta go too,” he coaxes, laughing and turning away to let her finish.

 _This is new_ , she thinks to herself with a hint of satisfaction, _it’s new, but it feels good, feels organic_. _And what’s next? Brushing their teeth side by side?_

She finishes up, not bothering to flush, giving him a bold, challenging look as they switch places, her assuming the position at the sink, watching him out of the corner of her eye while washing her hands and thinking “ _Yeah, I could do this..._ ”


	19. When Man Enters Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But there's no doubt he is an incredibly attractive man, mostly because of his sense of self and his charisma. He has a certain arrogance that's very appealing to women. I could see us at some point going on a date. But I don't know how long it would last. I don't see myself as his type."  
> ~ Gillian Anderson for Movieline, 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When man,  
> enters woman,  
> like the surf biting the shore,  
> again and again,  
> and the woman opens her mouth with pleasure  
> and her teeth gleam  
> like the alphabet,  
> Logos appears milking a star,  
> and the man  
> inside of woman  
> ties a knot  
> so that they will  
> never again be separate  
> and the woman  
> climbs into a flower  
> and swallows its stem  
> and Logos appears  
> and unleashes their rivers.
> 
> This man,  
> this woman  
> with their double hunger,  
> have tried to reach through  
> the curtain of God  
> and briefly they have,  
> though God  
> in His perversity  
> unties the knot.
> 
> Anne Sexton

He can feel her eyes on him and it makes him feel slightly embarrassed, but also turned on – by the fact that she is watching him, seeing him like that, but mainly just by her simple presence, her nearness... And come to think of it, maybe it's always been there... She doesn’t move away from the sink when she’s done, just keeps standing there, leaning against it, waiting for him. He flushes and walks over to wash his hands and as he does so, she wraps her arms around his waist, pressing her chest against him and resting her head on his back. He turns around to pull her into an embrace and leans down to kiss her, cupping her face and nuzzling it, his fingers playing with her hair... She is still wearing her long black dress and he slowly peels it off of her, kissing every inch of her exposed skin – her neck and collar bones, the hollow in her throat, the soft white skin of her chest blossomed with tiny sun-kissed freckles...

She tastes salty like the sea breeze and as much as she’s enjoying his ministrations, she squirms her way out of his arms, protesting – “Let go, I’m disgusting, I never made it to the shower after last night’s show, remember?”

He smiles to himself, finding it amusing that she would think that something like that could ever stop him, but he steps away respectfully, giving her a small nod and a smile as he motions to the tub, still filled with water that has been sitting there getting cold for the past few hours.

“So how does that bath sound now?”

“Fantastic,” she smiles back at him and pulls him in for another kiss, “as long as you’re joining me...” She adds in a low whisper  and raises an eyebrow at him in her cute, irresistible way.

“Careful what you wish for,” he chuckles, his eyes twinkling with genuine mirth and excitement, as he walks over to the tub to adjust the water again. She watches him put some mineral salts in it and is trying to remember the last time she saw him in such caring mode, except with his children. He would do anything for them and she knows the feeling – but to be on the receiving end of it, that’s quite new to her, especially from him. He _is_ babying her now – and she’s liking it, a lot, when he scoops her up in his arms and slowly eases her in the water that is just the right temperature, and she likes it even more when he discards his boxers and climbs in with her, the water rising to meet him and to envelop them both.

 _Heaven... This is what heaven must feel like_ , she thinks to herself as she rests her head on his broad chest, leaning into him and letting him wrap his arms and legs around her, the warm water soothing her body – her skin full of bruises and scrapes, and calming her mind that’s been all over the place and it can finally rest – at the only place that feels safe...

“ _Mmmmmmhhhh,_ ” she purrs and mewls, the waves of pleasure and pain crushing into each other as he works her muscles with his strong hands while lathering her up with a lavender scented soap that makes the whole bathroom smell like the fields of Provence in warm summer rain... She has no words to express how that makes her feel, so she just lets her body speak for her, arching and leaning into his touch, her breath hitching and coming out in small whimpers and moans.

She can feel his lips curve into a smile as he nibbles her ear, his own breath getting laboured and hot on her neck and she’s loving the effect they have on each other – still, after all those years... She can feel his growing arousal against her thigh and it immediately makes her want him even more – to really _feel_ him, to feel fulfilled, completed by him.

Her mind flashes to that one instance of having had him that way – it has been three months... That’s how long they both had to wait to see and feel each other in flesh again – and she doesn’t want to wait any longer... She sneaks her hand behind her to touch him, to feel him, and hears him hiss with pleasure, the vibrating sound of his voice sending a wave of pleasure down her core.

She turns around to face him, pressing herself into him, her hard nipples brushing against his, just as hard. She smiles – at them and then at him – as she lowers her face to kiss them, softly flicking her tongue over them, watching _all of him_ react to that slight touch and feeling an incredible surge of power over of effect she has on him.

He pulls her in and kisses her hungrily, the touch of their tongues finding each other making them both desperate for more.

“ _Come with me_ ,” he whispers in her mouth – and she almost does, right there, before he even touches her. The effect he has on her – his voice, the way he kisses her, the way he _looks_ at her... Nobody in her life has ever looked at her the way he does – his deep mossy eyes filling with tiny yellow stars, his gaze so intense that she feels pulled in, unable to resist.

But he’s already getting up and out of the tub, reaching out for a towel – giving himself a quick rub and wrapping it haphazardly around his hips, not doing much in the way of covering his straining erection. Grabbing another towel, a big and soft one, he holds it open for her to step into, catching her in his arms and softly drying off her flushed skin before picking her up and carrying her back to bed where he unwraps her like a very special gift that he’s waited so long to open. As he does so, he kisses every inch of her body while gazing at her admiringly, his head humming with the most romantic songs that should be playing on the background of their love-making session...

**_You in the moonlight_ **

**_With your sleepy eyes_ **

**_C_ _ould_** **_you ever love a man like me_ **

**_And you were right_ **

**_When I walked into your house_ **

**_I knew I'd never want to leave_ **

**_Sometimes I'm a strong man_ **

**_Sometimes cold and scared_ **

**_And sometimes I cry_ **

**_But that time I saw you_ **

**_I knew with you to light my nights_ **

**_Somehow I'd get by..._ **

_<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLEMiDrdSKU> _

She comes calling out his name along with several “ _f*cks_ ” and “ _oh G*d’s”_ and just hearing those words come out of her mouth in that wild husky voice of hers that he had never heard before, is enough to make him follow her, joining in the double hunger, _unleashing their rivers and the surf biting the shore – again and again, tying a knot inside her, so that they will never be separate again._

_\---_

They’re lying in each other’s arms, breathless, amazed, wrapped up in silence like mummies...

Then her girly giggles bubble through the air...

“ _Oh David William Duchovny,_ ” she finally gets out his name, laced with laughter, making sure that she pronounces it _properly_ – with the “H” sound that she used to tease him about, because he, the bearer of the name, could never get it right...

“D _o you have any idea how long I have waited for this...?”_


	20. I Can't Forget But I Don't Remember What...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To live in the moment you have to forget all the other moments.”  
> ~ David Duchovny - The Late Show, April 16, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stumbled out of bed  
> I got ready for the struggle  
> I smoked a cigarette  
> And I tightened up my gut  
> I said this can't be me  
> Must be my double  
> And I can't forget, I can't forget  
> I can't forget but I don't remember what 
> 
> I'm burning up the road  
> I'm heading down to Phoenix  
> I got this old address  
> Of someone that I knew  
> I was high and fine and free  
> Ah, you should have seen us  
> And I can't forget, I can't forget  
> I can't forget but I don't remember who 
> 
> I'll be there today  
> With a big bouquet of cactus  
> I got this rig that runs on memories  
> And I promise, cross my heart,  
> They'll never catch us  
> But if they do, just tell them it was me 
> 
> Yeah I loved you all my life  
> And that's how I want to end it  
> The summer's almost gone  
> The winter's tuning up  
> Yeah, the summer's gone  
> But a lot goes on forever  
> And I can't forget, I can't forget  
> I can't forget but I don't remember what 
> 
> Leonard Cohen ~ I Can’t Forget  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zgJt2M7t2CE

* * *

She wakes up with a start, her hand sliding on his pillow to find it cool and abandoned and her eyes flutter open to confirm the lack of his presence next to her. For a few moments she’s not sure if it wasn’t just a dream – it wouldn’t be the first time she had dreamt about falling asleep in his arms only to wake up alone...

She finds his shirt in the pile of clothes scattered on the floor that she doesn’t remember leaving behind, puts it on, not really bothering with the buttons, and trots barefoot through his apartment where she’s never been, slightly confused and disoriented, blindly following the smell of coffee and the gentle sounds coming from the kitchen, before even stopping in the bathroom.

This is new – she doesn’t even care to check herself in the mirror, to brush her teeth or her hair – she just needs to _see_ him, to _feel_ him against her, to make sure that he’s here, real, flesh and blood, and that he is not going anywhere – not just yet, anyway...

“Good morning, sleepyhead”, he says with a big smile before she even enters the room, the plopping of her bare feet on his hardwood floors announcing her. She’s standing there in the hallway, the morning sun wrapping her in a big halo, lighting up her messy hair falling down her shoulders clad in his shirt that is mostly open, barely covering her chest, but reaching almost down to her knees. She looks so adorable, her face slightly crumpled with sleep, but her eyes bright on his, smiling. She sniffs the coffee, crinkling her nose in a funny way and her lips smile as well.

“ _Mmmmmmhhhh_....” is all she can manage, stretching slightly and suppressing a yawn, “what time is it?”

He closes the distance between them, quickly wrapping her in his arms and lifting her off the floor as he kisses her eagerly. He hasn’t kissed her in.... almost 5 hours – since their last pee-break – and it seems like forever. When he breaks the kiss to take a breath and slowly ease her down, he remains just as close to her, brushing his lips on hers when he says:

“Almost 10. Time for coffee and shower,” and he finally pulls away to pour her a cup of freshly brewed coffee with just the right amount of cream. “Unless, of course, you just want to crawl back in bed,” he adds with a grin, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Mmmmmhhhh,” she purrs again, taking the cup from his hands and letting hers linger on them for a moment before bringing the cup to her mouth and inhaling deeply.... “Shower sounds really good...” she finally says, her eyes never leaving his.

“Alright,” his eyebrow shoots up again as his grin widens, “care to join me?”

He can’t believe he just said it, suddenly feeling self-conscious again, unsure of what her reaction would be or what he really wants, though he can’t deny that the idea of having her in the shower with him, his hands gliding over her clean smooth skin the way they did last night, is a major turn-on, which, he is afraid, is starting to become evident on him - so cold shower it is.

She’s too engrossed in her coffee to notice, or so it seems, but her mind is already in overdrive, considering her options. Not that she has that many... She didn't want to get herself into this, to get any more attached than she already is, but who is she kidding – if _this_ (whatever it is – _infatuation? attraction? kinetic energy?_ – this _f*cking **chemistry**_ of theirs) hasn’t diminished over the past 13 years, it is certainly not going anywhere now – after...

 _Oh boy_ , she can feel the familiar heat rising in her and she knows that she just can’t resist – it is still the same old story – whenever there’s trouble, she is sure to be the first in line. And besides, she really has to pee...

“Hey there,” she peeks into the bathroom with a casual smile, as if this was just a normal everyday morning – and to him it seems to be... He's standing in the shower, busy getting all soaped up while humming a tune of one of his songs that has quickly become her favorite, and as she starts singing along: ". _..walk it back baby, take another breath, rewind - and let it rain...,_ " all of his worries and self-consciousness are gone like the soap suds down the drain and all he cares about is her – to have her in his arms again, in his bed and in his life... It feels surreal that she is even here – in this apartment that has become his fortress, his island /” _No man is an island, except Manhattan_ ”/ and he never had anyone over, aside for his kids, of course. None of his lovers, his one-night stands, have ever been allowed to come over, leave alone stay. Now _she_ was here and it finally felt right.

He can’t stop smiling as he reaches out with his soapy hand to pull her in the shower with him, leaving the shirt crumpled on the floor, where it belongs.

The water is quite cold and it’s a shock to her body, still warm with sleep, but he pulls her close to his own hot skin and immediately she feels herself melting together with him, his lips on hers and his hands caressing her everywhere...

“I just can’t get enough of you,” he breathes out with surprising honesty, as if confessing to a priest. His lips move across hers as he says it, she can feel them curve up as he smiles into her mouth, and she thinks that that must be the sexiest thing in the world....

She feels the same way, as if she had been waiting too long and now that she finally “has him” she wants _all_ of him, _all_ the time, _always_...

“ _I need you_ ,” she whispers against his neck, shocked at how bold and naked her words came out. She did need him – to feel safe, to feel _alive_ again. She needed to feel physically connected with him in order to feel like she _belonged_ – somewhere, with someone... And no one else on this whole damn planet could make her feel that way. She knew that for certain. She’s always known...

***

Later they will, indeed, be standing at the sink, brushing and flossing next to each other and for a brief moment in time everything will be right with the world.

***


	21. When The Time Comes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don't know why I can do sad, but it seems to come naturally.”  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, Evening Standard Magazine, January, 2007

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the time comes...  
> All I have done  
> All that is and all that was  
> all I’ve torn and worn, destroyed and undone  
> Will be seen as one  
> We will be as one  
> When the time comes...
> 
> The future runs up ahead of me  
> Holding hands with my sometimes enemy  
> The present cannot keep its shit together  
> It’s only the past that lasts forever...
> 
> We will see that what we seek was inside all along...
> 
> When the time comes...
> 
> David Duchovny ~ When The Time Comes  
> https://youtu.be/uMDn_Dm-Yc8

When the time comes for them to say goodbye, he leans down to nuzzle her nose and says in an unexpectedly firm voice:

**_“We don’t have time for this bullshit.”_ **

Her eyes fly up to his with surprise and just a hint of fear – not sure what exactly he is saying and why. Was he trying to imply that this should not be happening? Because they already _knew_ that – and yet it didn’t do them much good now, did it. It _did_ happen. It _was_ happening. So now what?

 _“I don’t want you to go,”_ he finally says in that stubborn, defiant, childish way, as if just saying it loud enough could make her stay.

_What is up with him?_

“ _David_...” she says his name in a strict yet caring tone, almost motherly, “are you getting all sentimental on me?”

He smiles a sad smile and releases her hand.

“I must be,” he says, slowly letting go of her. He knows that she hates long goodbyes – as every goodbye is like little death to her and she’d rather have it over and gone in a flash than dwell on the lingering pain.

That's why they're _not_ doing the airport thing again. He has called her a cab and it has probably been waiting outside for a while now, while he's stalling, unable and unwilling to say goodbye yet again... He knows that she is due at the theater later in the afternoon and she needs to take some alone time to undergo that dreary transformation of hers and he will be on the red-eye flight to Glasgow tonight.

_Half the world away once again..._

She’s almost out of the door when she turns around and calls out to him over her shoulder:

“ _Hey **Mulder**..._ ”

 _Mulder... she called him Mulder..._ ( _because she always wanted to_ , she said)

A huge smile breaks out all over his face as warm and fuzzy memories of the past rush to the surface.

 _Mulder_...

Memories of a 24 year old “ _baby_ ” Gillian – of course everyone on the set would “ _baby_ ” her and some ( _way too many_ , if you asked him) have succeeded. But that’s in the past and he wants to believe that he has been able to let go of that. But then there were the rare, yet so significant, moments of the two of them snuggled on his goddamned couch on one too many dreary Vancouver nights...

Her young, scared and shattered self clinging to him, a cocky aspiring actor and author and well... husband-to-be... Those were some gloriously f*cked up times...

And yet – here they are – twenty years later, after all this time, after everything has changed, after three marriages and five children between them, after the defile of messed up relationships on both sides, after everything that has been said and done and everything that has _not_ been said and done – here they are and her eyes are still ablaze when she looks at him and his knees still buckle at that look.

“I wasn’t always very kind to you now, was I?” he says suddenly with such disarming honesty that she almost feels sorry for him. She feels like cradling him in her arms and rocking him like a baby. – And she does. She catches him in a tight embrace, reaching up to pull his head down and stroke his hair, soothing him.

“ _Oh David_ ,” her voice is soft and full of love, “I know that I was never easy to be around... And we were both so young... so reckless, so _clueless_...”

And suddenly it makes sense – what he just said – it _was_ bullshit – back then. For them to think that they could avoid those feelings. That they could escape them by denying them...

“David,” she asks almost self-consciously, a sudden realization creeping up on her and she needs to know, “did you...” She bites her lip, trying to come up with the right words ( _oh dear, how do I put this..._ ), a deep breath... “Did you ever _want_ _me_... back in the day...” Her voice trails off, but she holds the gaze.

He looks at her with wide eyes. He can’t remember ever seeing her so insecure, so self-conscious – as if she didn’t know how gorgeous she was – how much he desired her, how much he had always wanted her... He can't remember ever _not_ wanting her... And yet...

“What do you mean?” he says innocently, as if having no idea what she is talking about. A stupid escape, a futile attempt to buy some time...

But she is _not_ buying it.

“See, you’re doing it again,” she calls him out, her eyes icy on his, “so is _this_ the bullshit you’re talking about?”

 _Touché_. - Of course she is right. There is no escaping that stare. What was he thinking, anyway. _What the hell had he been thinking this whole time...?_

“ _Yes_ ,” he then says plainly, cocking his head to get a better view of her pretty face, “yes, I have always wanted you – and yes, it was, it _is_ bullshit, trying to deny it. It had never worked particularly well, has it?” He’s nuzzling her face again, whispering in her ear, his voice heavy with desire: “And I don’t think that there will ever be a time when I wouldn’t want you...”

And with that he kisses her for all those years they had let slip away and for the days that are going to separate them after she walks out of this door.

“Good, let’s leave it that way,” she whispers back as she returns the kiss before turning around and leaving him behind.


	22. You Got Me Singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A lot of the songs are about the ends of things, moving on, of loss, and of perseverance.”  
> ~ David Duchovny, October 2015
> 
> “Yes, they are about sorrow – but they are about perseverance, too.”  
> ~ David Duchovny, May 2016
> 
> "What I do know is that I feel these songs represent the truest expression that I've ever been able to achieve and I look forward to sharing it with everyone."  
> ~ David Duchovny, March 2015, The Rolling Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You got me singing, even tho’ the news is bad  
> You got me singing, the only song I ever had
> 
> You got me singing ever since the river died  
> You got me thinking of the places we could hide
> 
> You got me singing, even though the world is gone  
> You got me thinking I’d like to carry on
> 
> You got me singing, even tho’ it all looks grim  
> You got me singing the Hallelujah hymn
> 
> You got me singing like a prisoner in a jail  
> You got me singing like my pardon’s in the mail
> 
> You got me wishing our little love would last  
> You got me thinking like those people of the past... 
> 
> Leonard Cohen ~ You Got Me Singing  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVnxP6e9i-0

He’d call from his hotel, dialing up her hotel room number, like in the good old times... It felt romantic and “old-school” and just right... First he would call around 3pm, while getting ready for sound-check and rehearsal, counting the hours till it was alright to call her, knowing she needed her good solid 8-hour sleep and she probably didn’t get to bed before 2am as it took her a while to get down from the high of the performance, which he was only now beginning to understand. He felt so bad for her, seeing her literally fall apart every night and picking up the pieces every morning, hissing inaudibly, trying to mask her pain, but she wasn’t fooling him – he could see her cuts and bruises – and those were only on the surface. He could only be guessing on what was really going on inside...

She’d mewl and purr into the phone, trying to wake up or stay asleep, he’s never sure which one it is... All he knows is how warm she feels when she wakes up in his arms and how much he misses that feeling... How easy it would be to slip into a habit of waking up next to her – how easy it was to grow accustomed to her warm body curled up to him in just 3 nights...

\---

On the night calls after his shows the tables would turn, an incredible fatigue slowly winning over the rush of excitement and feeling of accomplishment, while she’s getting ready for _her_ rehearsal, her nerves already working, her voice tight and shifting towards that southern drawl that she does so well... He can almost feel her pulling away from him when she does that – submerges into her part like that...

“I know you’ll be _wonderful_ _tonight_ ,” he says fondly, deliberately quoting one of her favourite songs to her – and then, softer, “ _I miss you_.”

There is a pause. She won’t say anything, but he can hear her breathing, while he’s holding his own breath...

“Goodnight,” she says then – and there is a click before a sob.

\---

He’s lying there staring at the ceiling for a while, before pulling his cellphone out of his jean pocket and typing: “ _I miss seeing your beautiful face_ ” – and a heart <3.

– _A heart!_ What the f*ck?! – It's  like he’s twenty and has no control over his feelings anymore... Except that there were no cellphones or _emojis_ when he was twenty and life felt so much more real. He would have had to call her on the landline – so that’s what he has been doing... to make it all feel real.

There is no response, he wasn't expecting any, but of course he’s always hopeful, aching to hear from her... He can feel the exhaustion pulling him under and the next time he opens his eyes, the room is dark and the phone is still in his hand, lit up with a message – a very short and simple one – a number: “ _14_ ” – and a heart <3.

He’s smiling to himself as he heads to the bathroom, his feet heavy, but his head and heart floating on air. He discards his clothes, brushes his teeth and is just about to pull on a clean pair of boxers, when he hears the “ _ping_ ” of his phone from the bedroom and rushes over, all giddy, to find a picture of her already sitting in the dressing room, just before she puts all of her makeup on – her face naked and so beautiful, despite the lines and dark circles around her eyes, and he feels such surge of care and love for her... And only then his body finally relaxes and shuts off completely, letting him drift off to a deep dreamless slumber with a smile on his face and her smile on his mind...

 


	23. London // New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We have a long-standing deep appreciation and friendship for each other, because there is nobody else on the planet that really understands exactly what we went through.  
> ~ David Duchovny, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you were here beside me instead of in New York  
> If the curve of you was curved on me  
> I’d tell you that I loved you before I ever knew you  
> 'Cause I loved the simple thought of you  
> If our hearts are never broken, then there’s no joy in the mending  
> There’s so much this hurt can teach us both  
> There’s distance and there’s silence, your words have never left me  
> They’re the prayer that I say every day
> 
> Come on, come out, come here, come here  
> The lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean  
> And the fire that was starting to spark  
> I miss it all, from the love to the lightning  
> And the lack of it snaps me in two
> 
> If you were here beside me instead of in New York  
> In the arms you said you'd never leave  
> I'd tell you that it's simple and it was only ever thus  
> There is nowhere else that I belong
> 
> Come on, come out, come here, come here  
> The lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean  
> And the fire that was starting to spark  
> I miss it all from the love to the lightning  
> And the lack of it snaps me in two
> 
> Just give me a sign, there’s an end and not beginning  
> To the quiet chaos driving me mad  
> The lone neon nights and the walls of the ocean  
> And the fire that is starting to go out
> 
> Snow Patrol ~ New York  
> https://youtu.be/mIlNguMTPXI

London, May 7th 2016

 

He still wakes up hot and bothered by her presence (or the lack thereof), his hands naturally coming to rest on the softest, most sensitive spots of her body (or his own when she is not there...)

He misses _everything_ about her – her eyes, the look on her face first thing in the morning – when her gaze rests on his lips before one of them leans in for a kiss, the soft curve of her warm white body curved into his, ragged and tanned, her child-like hands kneading his tender flesh under the covers, the way she whispers his name when she comes...

He growls and reaches out to the nightstand to check the clock. It’s almost 9 am, which means he got solid 8 hours of sleep, though it certainly doesn’t feel that way... It also means that it’s 3 am in New York and too late /or too early/ to call her. He checks his phone like a teenager expecting a text from his crush. And that’s actually exactly what it is, he realizes with a slight surprise, but the thought doesn’t scare him. It makes him smile.

He gets up and heads for the shower, desperate to finally wash away last night. He feels cruddy, smells like beer and cigarettes and faintly remembers the reason for the dull headache behind his eyes. The pub after the show was one of the less smart ideas of his, but the guys insisted and of course he wasn’t gonna be the party-pooper. Besides, how do you resist an establishment with a name as charming as “ _The_ _Famous Cock_ ” – I mean seriously, it doesn’t get much better than that, now does it... Though he might have forgotten two quite important details - that he _was_ in fact at least twice as old as all of his band members – and that what the Brits called so innocently “ale” was actually beer much stronger than your usual American lager... So now there were consequences to be dealt with and procedures to be followed to get him back into the land of the living...

\---

But first things first... He checks his phone for the umpteenth time, then sends another text so that in case she wakes up in the middle of the night, she’ll know that he is thinking of her. _Every third thought_. He’d been in a long-distance relationship before, so he knows how it’s done. It feels strange to be reminded of those times – he does the quick calculation in his head and comes to the number 19 – that’s how many years it’s been since he used to do the exact same thing with his wife... His _ex_ -wife. That one is still hard to get used to. And yet, however f*cked up their history might have turned out, this is something he’d never done again with anyone else.

Until now.

“ _13 <3” _he writes and hits send.

Then off to the shower.

\---

It’s Saturday in London. And what a beautiful day it is... “ _as if issued to children on a beach”_... The air is so warm it almost feels like summer, but smells like spring and it _makes him believe again in everything_... 

It is such a treat for him to be able to just walk down the streets, mostly unrecognized or just politely respected, something unimaginable back home... He hits the streets of Camden, avoiding Clerkenwell and strolling through Regents Park, taking a precious moment to just “cop a squat” on the lush green grass to enjoy his antique copy of _Bleak House_ freshly acquired at one of those charming street markets and some _Poppies_ fish  & chips – served just right, wrapped in newspaper and smothered in vinegar. It seems so right to be reading the great Charles Dickens at this place – to stay in the background and just people-watch, to see the world through his eyes... He sits there for the longest time, taking notes, mentally recording everything, taking it all in – the smells, the lights, the different voices and accents, the puzzle pieces of countless love-stories that may never get told...

He doesn’t even notice the dusk creep up on him until the grass gets moist in the cool air, and he decides to head to Soho for dinner, thoroughly enjoying his newly gained anonymity, the liberating feeling of being just one of the crowd, finally ending up in a quiet corner of _Murakami_ ’s (how fitting again). He's eating the best miso and sushi in a long time when he suddenly realizes that he’s only a stone’s throw away from Leicester Square, the last place he (faintly) remembers from his last visit here – eight years ago...

That one time he took his children with him to visit Scotland and see where Grandma Meg came from. Though Miller was only 6 at that time and doesn’t remember much, 9 year old Madeleine was ecstatic about the countryside and horseback riding and farming. It was then, he believes, when _Elsie_ was born, their cow companion whose adventures kept them entertained on the road as they drove through the island “on the wrong side”, singing and laughing and forgetting for a while that their life was changing forever, never to be the same again...

He still remembers watching West’s beautiful little face with her big doe eyes – _his_ eyes, he realizes with fondness – and wondering how he got so lucky to have a daughter who is a spitting image of her gorgeous mother an yet has his eyes as a proof, a staple of his genes. He smiles at her in the rear mirror, giving her a slight nod as she points at Miller, asleep curled on her shoulder, and for a fleeting moment he thinks “ _this is happiness_ ”… – But then the reality sets in of his “right hand girl” missing in the seat next to him /though technically, it would be the _left_ seat, because this is Scotland and things of course can’t be all easy, right.../ and his heart aches with the heaviness of _always loving what we’re losing_...

\---

He then remembers the night of the premiere, mostly a blur of neon lights and spot lights and flash lights... and then that special kind of light in her face, her eyes – they were glowing, as if lit up by stars from within...

She was almost 7 months pregnant, both her belly and her face getting round, her skin milky and smooth, her hair so long, still strawberry red, straightened out and cascading freely down her bare shoulders, creating lovely flowing waves with every move, the glimpses of red complimenting her royal blue satin dress cut so low that it was humanly impossible _not_ to stare at the swell curve of her breasts, full with her great expectations, adorned by some ridiculous piece of jewelry that she kept fidgeting with nervously, only to pull his gaze closer.

She had that faraway look that he’d seen before, _the look of love_ , walking on air, and he tried to ignore the slight stab at his heart every time he caught a sight of Mark, trailing devotedly behind her, making it known that she was his...

And yet – she let him hold her tight and lean in close enough to smell her skin and nuzzle her cheek and neck and she smiled a lot and laughed at his jokes and he felt happy and drunk and his world suddenly felt so right, though it had never been so wrong...

\---

That night he calls her between her two shows, catching her breathless and just blurting out randomly “Did _you_?”

There’s a brief silence on the other end of the line as she waits patiently for him to finish his question, until she realizes that he won’t.

“Did I _what_ , David?” she says with a little edge that he can’t decide whether is still her lingering accent or just her natural impatience.

“Did you ever want _me_?” he says in an almost demanding, unapologetic tone.

The silence that flows back to him over the ocean is unbearable, making his heart stop and his thoughts race. For a split second he almost hangs up. Or chokes. Or weeps. Suddenly unsure if any of the days preceding today really happened. If any of this was _real_.

It takes her a moment to realize that he is only now revisiting their last conversation from 3 days earlier when she asked _him_ the very same question. She finds it absurd now, almost laughable, after the intensity of their past couple of days, but she can hear his heavy breathing in her ear and realizes that he really, honestly doesn’t know what is happening.

She closes her eyes, picturing him next to her and almost feeling his breath on her neck, his lips so close, the heat emanating from his body tickling her skin and making it all tingly. Just the simple thought causes her body to react in the exact same way. She wishes that he knew. That she could show him.

“ _David_ ,” she barely whispers in her softest tone, her voice raspy, sticking to him like Velcro.

Then a breath that he can feel all the way down his spine.

And then: “ _You have no idea..._ ”

 

***


	24. Half The World Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I appear indifferent or aloof, it just really means that I’m vulnerable and that I’m afraid... So, what I’m actually saying is that, when people say, ‘Well, I’m just like anybody else’, that’s actually true. Although it just sounds like bullshit coming out of my mouth. But all that’s just kind of fear in those moments where you’re completely out of control in a crowd, or being consumed in some mass way.”  
> ~ David Duchovny, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to leave this city  
> This old town don't smell too pretty and  
> I can feel the warning signs running around my mind...
> 
> And when I leave this island I'll book myself into a soul asylum  
> 'Cause I can feel the warning signs running around my mind  
> So here I go still scratching around in the same old hole  
> My body feels young but my mind is very old  
> So what do you say?  
> You can't give me the dreams that are mine anyway  
> You're half the world away  
> Half the world away...
> 
> Oasis ~ Half The World Away  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tiqxn3iOmxY

...and back on the road again...

There is something about airports... Something that he really likes, that speaks to him. It’s like a world within this world of ours, compact and filled with stories. It’s a writer’s dream, a place between places – people coming and going, the constant movement, like the seas. He likes it, he always feels sucked in, soaking it all up, the delightful concoction of emotions, the joy of reunions and the heartache of parting, the great expectations, the prospect of adventure, the sweet returns and fulfilled dreams; the high class, the business casual, the roaming souls... He’s cataloguing it all away in his mind, saving it for later... And, having felt quite emotionally insufficient for the better part of his life, he also gets overwhelmed and exhausted by it all.

He walks out on the tarmac on autopilot, letting the cool morning air sooth his burning skin and feeling amazed by the everyday miracle of the rising sun, hovering just above the horizon, a sight that will never get old. He’s loving the feeling of getting lost in the crowd, being one with everyone else on this flight, the crew only acknowledging him by a slight nod as he makes his way into his seat. He’s just getting settled when there’s a knock on his shoulder, soft, but insistent. He turns around to face a woman he’s never seen before – immediately pulled into her beautiful mossy green eyes looking at him shyly from behind round tortoise shell glasses, a face filled with the soft light of the early morning sun and of her smile.

“ _Excuse me, Mr. Duchovny_ ,” she says quietly.

 _Mr. Duchovny_ – he can’t remember the last time he was called that.

“ _I just wanted to tell you how much I have enjoyed your book._ ”

Her smile is warm, genuine, there’s something very calming about her that makes him smile back. What are the chances of meeting someone who’s reading _your_ _book_ on the same flight you’re on... This is the kind of shit that _makes_ the books. _Life itself._ The very reason why he writes. Why anybody writes, really.

After some scrambling for a pen he signs her copy, is introduced to her two pretty daughters with identical smiles and then drifts off to sleep as soon as he closes his eyes. His last thoughts are of his own children and of their mother and for the first time in a long time, the thoughts don’t bring him pain...

\---

Back in the day he used to fly first class, because it made him feel like he _was_ _somebody_. How foolish is the pride of youth... The only times he had ever _really_ felt that way were the treasured moments he got to spend with his children, watching them grow and become the people that they are – knowing (deep inside) that yes, he too created them and had a hand in shaping them into the fine human beings that they were now. And it filled his heart with gladness – such immense pride and joy – and also humbleness, because so much of this miracle of growing up and _becoming somebody_ could not be explained or willed. It just happened “ _while they were busy making other plans_ ”. Thank goodness for that.

\---

And then there is **_her_**... She made him feel _real_ and _alive_ more than anyone ever had, more than she probably knew, more than he thought was even possible – before she touched her forehead to his and breathed him in for the first time... Ages ago – and on their last night together... Before she smiled at him from _behind_ the camera and her eyes – _those eyes_ – were full of love. And pride. And her lips – the lips that could make him a little hard with just a slight quirk, a quick sweep of tongue along them – those lips whispered “ _sucker_ ” as well as “ _you’ve done well, kid_ ” and he _was_ most definitely both – a kid always so eager to please her and so proud to have succeeded and a sucker for her love and approval.

He _did_ feel like _someone_ when he cracked a joke and made her laugh – that meant everything to him. And on that last night when he was moving inside of her, there was that point when her breath hitched and a moan escaped her mouth and her inner walls clamped up around him and the small of her back arched, coming closer to him, her head thrown back, her eyes fluttered shut and her mouth fell open... her mouth calling out his name ---

\---

He wakes up with a jerk... the mere hour of sleep only left him all confused, his body aching... He can still feel the pounding headache and it’s beginning to dawn on him that maybe he wasn’t just feeling crappy yesterday because of his drinking on Friday night.

It’s Sunday in Luxembourg. A day of rest. The streets are quiet, everybody is still asleep or slowly getting up and ready for church or for a family day. The electric car is noiselessly moving through the city and he gets a nostalgic feeling for Glasgow – with its hills and the fine mixture of history and present, old castles and modern art, yet another city he hadn’t explored quite enough... But he can barely keep his eyes open and all he can think of is a clean bed, clean sheets, the clean smell of her skin after she’d taken a bath, her head resting on his shoulder, his hand on her hip, her breath on his neck and his lips in her hair... and the 6 more hours it’ll take till he gets to hear her voice again and 12 more days till he gets to taste her skin...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for you. You know who you are ;) xx


	25. Most of The Time...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He hoped so hard it almost took a form of a prayer that they would become the close reader of each other’s life.”  
> ~ David Duchovny: Bucky F*cking Dent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the time  
> I'm clear focused all around  
> Most of the time  
> I can keep both feet on the ground  
> I can follow the path  
> I can read the signs  
> Stay right with it when the road unwinds  
> I can handle whatever  
> I stumble upon  
> I don't even notice she's gone  
> Most of the time.
> 
> Most of the time it's well understood  
> Most of the time I wouldn't change it if I could  
> I can make it all match up  
> I can hold my own  
> I can deal with the situation right down to the bone  
> I can survive and I can endure  
> And I don't even think about her  
> Most of the time.
> 
> Most of the time my head is on straight  
> Most of the time I'm strong enough not to hate  
> I don't build up illusion 'til it makes me sick  
> I ain't afraid of confusion no matter how thick  
> I can smile in the face of mankind  
> Don't even remember what her lips felt like on mine  
> Most of the time.
> 
> Most of the time she ain't even in my mind  
> I wouldn't know her if I saw her  
> She's that far behind  
> Most of the time I can't even be sure  
> If she was ever with me  
> Or if I was ever with her  
> Most of the time I'm halfway content  
> Most of the time I know exactly where it went  
> I don't cheat on myself I don't run and hide  
> Hide from the feelings that are buried inside  
> I don't compromise and I don't pretend  
> I don't even care if I ever see her again  
> Most of the time...
> 
> Bob Dylan ~ Most of the Time  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lAzcPg5LR5k

Amsterdam, May 9th 2016

He goes to the city to explore its channels, the old town with its brick houses and cobblestone streets and the life pouring out of the cozy little coffee shops along the crooked narrow lanes. He heeds the sweet smell of _Mary Jane_ , transporting him to the memories of his youth, no less sweet, his college years, carefree and easy on the soul. Though it may not have seemed that way at that time – like any other aspiring young author he was plagued with self-doubt and insecurities of all kinds and had been through way too many heartbreaks, despite his brilliant mind and impressive physique. Unable to find _real love_ , uwilling to settle for anything less... But through it all, so very much _alive_. There’s always something, isn’t there, and life always perseveres...

It all seemed so mundane in hindsight, from the perspective of 30 years and his own fair share of pain, though, to be fair, what was his divorce (that was entirely his own damn fault) and a couple of more or less f*cked up relationships (that may or may not have been his own doing as well), in comparison to the actual devastating heartache this world is going through every day...

He can’t even allow himself to think about it – most of the time, because it would just crush his soul. All he can do is be _mindful_ , keep his eyes and his heart open and just do the little he can in his immediate world...

“ _Spread kindness daily_ ,” she’d put it. _She_ , who’s so good with words. Though _he_ is the writer there, sometimes he tends to be too clumsy, too elaborate, too long-winded... She, on the other hand, has a way of putting things simply, making people understand. He likes that about her. He likes the way she can pull him down to earth just minutes after lifting him to the endless sky. Yet she is anything _but_ simple herself – she’s crazy complicated, a living contradiction, as complex as a crystal, a galaxy, a constellation of stars or an ancient riddle...

And he wants to spend the rest of his life trying to figure her out. He wants to take her apart and make her unravel in his arms – then slowly, very carefully, put those puzzle pieces back together, one by one – to finally reveal “ _the truest truths that hold them together, or keep them painfully, desperately apart..._ ”

He knows in his heart that her very core is soft and fragile and she’s been protecting it so fiercely, not letting anyone touch it after having been hurt and falling apart so many times... He understands that now. He had been there, too. He still _is_ – _afraid_. Scared sh*tless. Because nothing makes us as vulnerable as loving someone. Or allowing someone to love us...

He feels like he’s finally beginning to understand that - understand _her_ – now that she has let him inside – allowing him to peek under the layers and layers of self-defence masked under indifference. And he has this exciting, yet completely terrifying and overwhelming feeling that he might be “ _her person_ ” – and she might be his...  _The close reader of each other's life._

He’s _hopeful._

****


	26. Waiting for a Miracle To Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A dream is an answer to a question we haven't yet learned how to ask."  
> ~ The X Files, S4, Paper Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby, I've been waiting,  
> I've been waiting night and day.  
> I didn't see the time,  
> I waited half my life away.  
> There were lots of invitations  
> and I know you sent me some,  
> but I was waiting  
> for the miracle, for the miracle to come. 
> 
> I know you really loved me.  
> but, you see, my hands were tied.  
> I know it must have hurt you,  
> it must have hurt your pride  
> to have to stand beneath my window  
> with your bugle and your drum,  
> and me I'm up there waiting  
> for the miracle, for the miracle to come. 
> 
> \---
> 
> I dreamed about you, baby.  
> It was just the other night.  
> Most of you was naked  
> Ah but some of you was light.  
> The sands of time were falling  
> from your fingers and your thumb,  
> and you were waiting  
> for the miracle, for the miracle to come 
> 
> Ah baby, let's get married,  
> we've been alone too long.  
> Let's be alone together.  
> Let's see if we're that strong.  
> Yeah let's do something crazy,  
> something absolutely wrong  
> while we're waiting  
> for the miracle, for the miracle to come. 
> 
> Leonard Cohen ~ Waiting for a Miracle  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Di-etRm4cN8

_Malibu Beach, LA_

_The fresh breeze and the exquisite morning light on her already sun-kissed skin covered in the softest hair reflecting the sun in a sort of a magical halo. She **is** light. _

_Her tiny frame of lean muscle, a perfect swell of full breasts and a soft curve of hips covered in suntan oil, glistening in the sunshine._

**_“Most of you was naked, oh but some of you was light...”_ **

**_This is perfection_ ** _,_ _he thinks to himself as he watches her dreamily, her silhouette sparkling, standing with her back to him now, timid waves lapping at her tiny feet, her long blond hair falling down her shoulders in messy curls, caressing her soft skin, the perfect curve of her back, her legs – impossibly long for someone as tiny as her, toned and strong._

_She steps in further, letting the waves lick her thighs, wincing momentarily when the water reaches her sensitive center, washing over her stomach and cupping the bottom of her breasts._

_Then, laughing it off, she turns around with that flip of her hair, calling out to him:_

_“You comin’?”_

_And how the hell could he not..._

_“Damn straight I am,” he exclaims, laughing, launching himself in the mass of salt water, splashing all around, making her squeal with delight like a little girl._

_And then she’s in his arms and he’s pulling her along with him, under the water, falling deeper, deeper yet... the blue silence enveloping them in its serenity..._

_\---_

There’s a strange muffled sound cutting through the stillness of remembering – and then he’s waking up, sweaty and confused, unaware of where he’s at or what is happening – the immense _joy_ that he was wrapped up in moments ago is gone now, replaced by piercing pain in his throat, a throbbing headache and an overwhelming feeling of loss...

_F*ck!_

Blindly, he’s feeling for his phone in the dark, slowly recognizing the room he’s in as his eyes grow accustomed to the single thin ray of light coming through the closed shutters.

The memory comes back to him of walking back to his hotel down the cobblestone streets, passing by Anne Frank’s house and several other museums, almost literally tripping over history itself all over this city, his mind too foggy to be able to really take any of that in. He just keeps walking, which gives him something to do other than missing her. Missing her has clearly become a full-time job and he doesn’t like the idea. He’s counting the hours until he can call her – and when he does and she doesn’t answer the call, it sends him spiraling into an emptiness of abandonment.

 _Damnit_.

It’s almost five, time for a rehearsal and sound-check – and still no call...

It’s also Monday, her only day off – and she’d be damned if she didn’t make the most of it. – He knows it and he wants it for her – to just get out there and grab a glorious bite of the crazy life outside, and yet - knowing that she could be happy right now, yeah, quite happy and content _without_ him, doesn’t stop him from feeling sorry for himself...

He needs to hear her. Now. Her voice is like a habit to him.

He needs to hear her and she is almost 4000 miles away...


	27. Empire State Of Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “New York doesn’t solve all your problems, but it’s a much more realistic place to live than Los Angeles.”
> 
> "When you get there, there isn't any there there." ~ Zen Proverb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of  
> There's nothing you can't do  
> Now you're in New York  
> These streets will make you feel brand new  
> Big lights will inspire you  
> Hear it for New York, New York
> 
> On the avenue, there ain't never a curfew  
> Ladies work so hard  
> Such a melting pot on the corner selling rock  
> Preachers pray to God  
> Hail a gypsy cab  
> Takes me down from Harlem to the Brooklyn Bridge  
> Someone sleeps tonight with a hunger  
> For more than from an empty fridge
> 
> I'm going to make it by any means  
> I got a pocketful of dreams  
> Baby, I'm from New York...
> 
> Alicia Keys & JAY Z ~ Empire State Of Mind  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oMX1sc3eOTE&feature=youtu.be

She wakes up in her hotel room overlooking the Harbor and her heart rejoices at the thought of having a full day just to herself – and then suddenly deflates at the realization that she won’t get to spend it with him... When did this shift happen...? When did she let go of her so treasured independence and fell so hard for the idea of having someone around – someone to hold her close, someone to wake up to and someone to call at the end of each day, other than her kids...

She closes her eyes and allows herself the indulgence of letting her mind replay last night’s dream... She remembers his deep husky voice pouring over her like warm honey, his big hands warming her skin as they gently roam over her body, sliding down her spine, resting on her hips and her butt, pulling her into him, sharing his comforting warmth with her...

She faintly remembers waking up in the middle of the night with her phone still on in her hand and his soft breathing tickling her ear... For a moment if felt so real, so right, so good... She misses him, _damnit_.

He left a sweet message - the number _11_ and a couple of his habitually nonsensical emojis that always make her smile. Just seeing his name – and yes, his picture – pop up on the screen makes her smile. And she’s been smiling _a lot_ lately.

And yet, she won’t call him. She’s made up her mind that she won’t be his “desperate housewife”. She won’t trail after him and hang on his every word anymore. She won’t be wasting her time pining for him. She’s wasted too much time on that in the past already, never in her wildest dreams seeing them getting to this point twenty years later... Yes, she _is_ thankful. She is so f*cking blessed to have him back in her life again. She knows it. And she  _will_ make the most of the time they have together – as well as of the time they have apart.

She gets out of bed, smiling, proud of herself – for just that – being _herself_ again, feeling good in her own skin – despite the scrapes and bruises and the ever-present aches, despite the wrinkles around her eyes and cracked lips, despite her freckles getting out of hand again, blossoming all over her once perfectly white chest...

He’s kissed every single one of them, touched every imperfection of hers – and made them perfect.

She’s smiling while making her morning tea, having enough time for once to enjoy it, watching with delight as the heavy cream swirls in the golden liquid, taking in the lovely smell as she steps out on the terrace, still wearing just her satin robe, holding the hot cup in her hands, breathing in the cool salty air and enjoying the beautiful view of the city that was once her home...

As always it fills all of her senses and makes her feel so very much _alive_. It is still the same feeling as all those years ago – _twenty... twenty eight_?! – the intoxicating feeling of freedom, the sense of possibility, the joy of being alive! It is _her_ city and a part of her heart will always belong to it. And it is also _his_ city and a part of him seems to be forever lingering around. And she likes it, she likes it a lot. The thought of the city spread out at her feet being one that belongs to them both – and them both belonging to it. It is a part of their shared history now.

She cannot wait to get out there and explore, rediscovering long forgotten places, reliving memories tied to every single one of them, some sad and nostalgic, some exhilarating, some very very blurry and some that she’d rather forget once and for all... She shakes her head to clear her thoughts, finishes her tea and not 15 minutes later is dressed and ready to head out. Quickly breezing through the room, filling her handbag with the necessities for the day while pulling her messy hair into a loose ponytail, she grabs her phone and a fresh apple from the counter, taking a hungry bite while she slips on her favourite shoes on that insanely high wedge that he always gives her hell about /he’s not fooling her though, she’s seen the look in his eyes when he lets them roam the length of her calves that even she knows look so f*cking good in those/, and she scampers down the stairs like a squirrel, excited for her day, for doing whatever she pleases, for going f*cking nuts if she wants to...

And she does. She just wants to be herself, to get lost in this city, enjoying life, taking it all in in huge bites like the apple that it is...

\---

First of all she has to cross the bridge, of course, and as she does, as she lets the view of the shimmering skyline of Manhattan take her breath away yet again, as she heeds the smell of Hudson River, the mixture of gasoline and oil and fish and adventure embracing her like his arms, her head is humming with the words of Walt Whitman’s poem that he’d recited to her here once upon a time...

_What is it then between us?_

_What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?_

_Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not,_

_I too lived, Brooklyn of ample hills was mine,_

_I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan island, and bathed in the waters around it,_

_I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me,_

_In the day among crowds of people sometimes they came upon me,_

_In my walks home late at night or as I lay in my bed they came upon me..._

And so it begins – she has not even gotten over the river yet and he is already with her – always by her side in her mind... And she welcomes him with open arms and spring in her step as she continues on to the Manhattan Island, closer to him, his habitat, his world...

Inevitably, she heads to East Village, so enamoured with the atmosphere of the old Lower Manhattan with its brownstones, street art, obscure little coffee shops, tattoo parlours and galleries, making her usual stop at Strand, picking up a book and a latte and spending a good hour reading before heading up Broadway to Union Square, then via Madison Square Garden and Bryant Park to MOMA, just to take a peek and soak up her beloved art, admiring the bursts of colours and shapes and structures...

It is way past noon when she finally enters the east gate of Central Park and after another hour of walking finally reaches the Reservoir, but not before stopping at Strawberry Fields to lay a white rose on the John Lennon memorial. She was only 12 when he got shot, but she remembers it so clearly – the cold Michigan day when she got the news and as much as it may sound like a cliché now, she did feel as though her world had fallen apart... Even more so than before, when had they moved to this sh*thole a year ago, everything seemed lost... She wonders how David felt about it – being 20 already, in his sophomore year at Princeton and still living in New York for the most part when it happened. It’s shocking to her now that in all those years they never talked about it... But then they had never been here together. And they so rarely ever really talked... As for herself, she always thought that had John stayed back in England, he might have lived. And she also thought then that the very same applied on her...

But now, 36 years later... ( _36 years..._ what a huge stretch of a life-time and yet it all feels like yesterday...) she _is alive_ , more than ever, and from where she’s sitting on the cool grass in the shade of an old maple tree, watching a bunch of young boys play catch, she can see the house where he lives, where he took her just a few days ago, and she remembers the key that he pressed in the palm of her hand before she hurriedly left that morning and her eyes fill with tears that she quickly swallows before they brim over and ruin that view...

She won’t go there. She’s promised herself. She’ll go to the Metropolitan and to Solomon Guggenheim, and sip more coffee in the lovely company of Picasso, Kandinsky and Giacometti while resting her tired feet on the cool marble floors. That's exactly what she will do. She must have walked over 10 miles on those bloody heels of hers and she can see his point now, his furrowed brow and his mock-stern voice telling her that _it is f*cking crazy to be walking in shoes like that_ , but she likes them too much and they make her feel like a real person... A real person that could really use his wonderful foot massage right about now...

\---

It’s getting late and she has just realized with a quick glance at her phone that his show is probably over by now and she should really call him. She’s done pretending that she doesn’t miss him like crazy. That she doesn’t need him. She needs to hear his voice... She wants to bathe in it; if she can’t have his touch, at least she wants to feel his voice vibrate down her spine and tickle her nerve endings. She wants to let her own hands caress her body in place of his, to soothe and excite, to take off the sharp edge of longing that's scraping at her breast bone when he’s not around.

_It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall,_

_The dark threw its patches down upon me also..._

_[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=trv62pwuI50&feature=youtu.be](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=trv62pwuI50&feature=youtu.be) _

It isn’t until her way back home, when she finds herself in Williamsburg, the old Jewish part of town, breathing the atmosphere of days long gone, that she finally realizes that what she's been missing so sorely all this time is a **_companion_** – someone to _share_ this all with – to turn to and say “ _look, look at that_ ” and watch his reaction, listen to him marvel at the same things as her or dispute her point or just let him hold her hand... How pathetic. How _human_. She can’t help herself but wonder how often he had come here in his young years – if his dad ever took him here before he left... (She finds it ironic that they both had gone through their hardest time when they were just 11 - her with their move, him with his parents' divorce... though those events were in fact separated by 8 years). She wonders if his legendary _Opa Schtikker_ lived here once upon a time or would he just come here all the way from the Bronx for sourdough bread and to listen to the old men talk in _Jiddish_ , and if it’s something that David would do too, now that his father was long gone... If this very place was at the root of his book... And how come that they have never talked about any of this...?

She feels as if she’s walking through streets that used to be his home and she suddenly wants to be a part of it – a part of his history. Of his _home_.

 ---

It is close to six when she finally arrives at her hotel room, shedding her long black dress that's been clinging to her damp skin in the humid heat of the concrete jungle and opening the windows wide to let in some cool evening air; while on the other side of the world, 3.500 miles away from her, he’s tossing in bed, covered in cold sweat, his mind jumbled and riddled with feverish images of her...


	28. Slow Like Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Something shifted in his makeup and his energy since he married. He seems more relaxed and at peace with himself, and he seems much happier. It was like he was searching and now he's found that little puzzle piece that he was missing."  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, US Magazine 1998
> 
> “It shocked a couple of people, but the ones who really know me and who have known my history over the past couple of years, well, they also know when I'm sane and when I'm not sane. And me being sane and pregnant was a much better recipe for their friend than me being not sane and not pregnant.”  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, Evening Standard Magazine, 2007  
> http://www.gilliananderson.ws/transcripts/07_09/07es.shtml

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You moved like honey in my dream last night  
> Yeah, some old fires were burning  
> You came near to me and you endeared to me  
> But you couldn't quite discern me  
> Does that scare you?  
> I'll let you run away  
> But your heart will not oblige you  
> You'll remember me like a melody  
> Yeah, I'll haunt the world inside you
> 
> And my big secret  
> Gonna win you over  
> Slow like honey  
> Heavy with mood
> 
> I'll let you see me,  
> I'll covet your regard  
> I'll invade your demeanor  
> And you'll yield to me  
> Like a scent in the breeze  
> And you'll wonder  
> What it is about me
> 
> It's my big secret  
> Keeping you coming  
> Slow like honey  
> Heavy with mood
> 
> Though dreams can be deceiving  
> Like faces are to hearts  
> They serve for sweet relieving  
> When fantasy and reality lie too far apart  
> So I stretch myself across like a bridge  
> And I pull you to the edge  
> And stand there waiting  
> Trying to attain  
> The end to satisfy the story  
> Shall I release you?  
> Must I release you?  
> As I rise to meet my glory
> 
> But my big secret  
> Gonna hover over your life  
> Gonna keep you reaching  
> When I'm gone like yesterday  
> When I'm high like heaven  
> When I'm strong like music  
> 'Cause I'm slow like honey, and  
> Heavy with mood
> 
> Fiona Apple ~ Slow Like Honey  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WoeIeg_JvoA

She finally calls him just before midnight, shortly after his return to the hotel room, immediately picking up on how crappy his voice sounds / _Why thanks a lot..._ / and she talks to him like you would to a child – helping to soothe him into numb slumber, just by recounting the little details from her day to him in her soft monotone, getting more animated and slipping into a genuine emotion when she tells him how she missed him at all of those places and how she can’t wait to have him with her, again, and his heart swells at those words, at the thought of her walking through the streets that are his home, thinking of him... missing him...

This is how she wants to spend her days off – with him, even if only on the phone-line. She is completely satisfied, happy even, just lying in her overly big and empty bed, curled up with her phone, listening to his even breathing and it fills her heart with gladness and with love and care for him.

It’s the first time in a long time that she’s feeling this way about anyone else but her children. There was a time though, 8 years ago, when the feeling of care and some kind of almost motherly responsibility for him hit her with such force...

It was the summer of 2008, 4 months after they had wrapped up a long stretch of shooting in Vancouver, an experience almost surreal to her after she had spent over 5 years trying to distance herself from anything even remotely close to that period of her life – and _yet_ , when she first saw him again, those mossy green eyes of his, his uneven pupils laced gently with all shades of gray – she _knew_ _with the kind of certainly you only feel once in a lifetime_ , that it never was and never could be over...

Yes, she had finally learned to let go, to survive, day by day. She went on and built a life with a man she respected and admired and who loved her and cared for her deeply... But when their eyes met the first day on the set, when he pulled her into one of his bear hugs and she found herself still fitting so perfectly into his embrace, her head tucked safely under his chin and her arms locking around his waist, when their lips melted into each other for a scene and lingered long long after the cameras stopped running, when she found out that she did indeed get pregnant like she wanted to, planned to, prayed for and worked on so hard – and  _he_ was the first one she wanted to run to to share the news with... she knew she was lost...

And yet... They did say goodbye and go their separate ways and lived on...

And there they were again – 4 months later, her very pregnant belly creating a natural boundary between them – but only until he bridged that one over as well, leaning into her and holding on so tight, as if unable to let go – and then she saw it – for the first time – his eyes had changed – there was something new about them – a  _lack_ of something, a hollow longing, some kind of pain going all the way to his soul...

And she – on the top of her world, improbably happy, heavily pregnant and gloriously _sane_ , found herself strangely _supporting him_ , the 6 foot tall man with his towering presence and authority of a brilliant mind, suddenly clinging to her with desperation and she was holding him up with all her might as he stumbled along.

A tiny pregnant woman supporting the man she had spent the greater part of her life looking up to – so powerful in the purity of her love...

\---

She pauses to listen to his regular breathing, soft moans travelling over the ocean and straight through her. She can feel his struggle and her heart clenches for him. Only then, when she’s absolutely sure that he is asleep, she hangs up, but not before whispering those three words she’s been holding on to for so long and that she is still not quite ready to let go of....


	29. Sous le ciel de Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “By the time I was in graduate school, my father had retired and moved to Paris. I think he was shocked and curious when I dropped out to pursue acting. Becoming successful probably only made me feel less ashamed to be around him.”  
> ~ David Duchovny: My Defining Moment, David Keeps, Best Life 2007  
> http://vavieddfan.tumblr.com/post/138855679024/youokay-mulder-when-i-was-young-my-dad
> 
> "I think it must have broken my heart... and that's something that is a great sorrow and a great gift. The gift being, I think, it turned me into an artist, or whatever it is I am. It turned me into somebody who needs to figure things out or express something. Who has a pain that I want to express or assuage or whatever."  
> ~ David Duchovny, US Magazine 1998  
> http://duchovny.net/articles/march98.htm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sous le ciel de Paris – under the Parisian sky  
> S'envole une chanson – there’s a song flying  
> Elle est née d'aujourd'hui – a song born just today  
> Dans le cœur d'un garçon – in the heart of a boy  
> Sous le ciel de Paris – under the Parisian sky  
> Marchent des amoureux – lovers are walking  
> Leur bonheur se construit – and happiness consists of  
> Sur un air fait pour eux – the air made just for them
> 
> Sous le pont de Bercy – under the Bercy bridge  
> Un philosophe assis – a philosopher sits  
> Deux musiciens quelques badauds – two musicians and some strollers  
> Puis les gens par milliers – and thousands of other people  
> Sous le ciel de Paris – under the Parisian sky  
> Jusqu'au soir vont chanter – will sing till the evening  
> L'hymne d'un peuple épris – a hymn of the people in love  
> De sa vieille cité – with this old city
> 
> Près de Notre Dame – Near Notre Dame  
> Parfois couve un drame – some brooding drama  
> Oui mais à Paname – but in Panama  
> Tout peut s'arranger – everything will get settled  
> Du ciel d'été – under the summer sky  
> L'accordéon - accordeon  
> D'un marinier – of a marine  
> L'espoir fleurit – hope blooming  
> Au ciel de Paris – in Parsian sky
> 
> Sous le ciel de Paris – under the Parisian sky  
> Coule un fleuve joyeux – a joyous river runs  
> Il endort dans la nuit – and falls asleep at night  
> Les clochards et les gueux – beggars and tramps  
> Sous le ciel de Paris – under the Parisian sky  
> Les oiseaux du Bon Dieu - ladybirds  
> Viennent du monde entier – from all over the world  
> Pour bavarder entre eux – come chat with them
> 
> Et le ciel de Paris – and the Parisian sky  
> A son secret pour lui – holds his secret for him  
> Depuis vingt siècles il est épris – for twenty centuries he’s been in love  
> De notre Ile Saint Louis – with our Ile Saint Louis  
> Quand elle lui sourit – oh how she smiled  
> Il met son habit bleu – and he was wearing his blue coat...
> 
> Quand il pleut sur Paris – when it rains in Paris  
> C'est qu'il est malheureux – it’s when she’s unhappy  
> Quand il est trop jaloux – when she’s too jealous  
> De ses millions d'amants – of the millions of lovers  
> Il fait gronder sur nous – she’s scolding us  
> Son tonnerr' éclatant – with glorious thunders  
> Mais le ciel de Paris – but the Parisian sky  
> N'est pas longtemps cruel – is never cruel for long  
> Pour se fair' pardonner – and to apologize  
> Il offre un arc en ciel – she offers us a rainbow  
> ZAZ ~ Sous le ciel de Paris  
> https://youtu.be/ydtryV65UGk

On May 11th, the 7th day on the road, he finally gets a break, for which he’s eternally thankful – to his manager and himself for having that glimpse of sanity to skip a show here and there. He can feel his years weighing on him, and though he had never been vain /or he’d like to _think_ he’s not/, it bothers him that his body cannot handle the long stretches of stress, physical activity and lack of sleep, the constant travel and change, the way he used to...

There were times when he would be going on 4 hours of sleep, 10 mile runs, coffee and sex. Then slowly the balance started to shift – from running to sleep, from sex to coffee, from hype to low...

So here he is now, at 55 (going on 56, but let's not think about that). Still in good shape, all things considered, _pretty good shape_ , actually, most of the time... He can still pull off a two hour show and seize the stage like the _blur of movement_ his mother used to call him... He also apparently still has what it takes to last all night. The thought makes him happy and proud and for a moment takes off the edge of lacerating pain in his throat and the heaviness in his head and heart.

He flies into Paris around noon, using the hour-long flight to squeeze in a nap, once again dreaming deliriously of her face hovering over his, the locks of her golden hear tickling his neck, her cold little hands soothing his burning brow...

“ _It’s alright, I’m here_ ,” she’s whispering through the fog of ache, her voice catching and disappearing in the distance...

He wakes up abruptly with a gasp for air, making his way through the Charles De Gaulle airport half-asleep and slightly numb, which helps to keep his emotions at bay.

\---

It’s been 13 years since the last time he set foot on the sacred ground of the City of Love.

He still remembers very clearly the way the air smelled, still hot and humid on the first day of September, the earth dry and cracked as they eased the coffin into the tomb at Montparnasse Cemetery, the weeping willows heavy with bird song – so inappropriate and yet so very fitting at the same time. He was standing between his two siblings, the middle one, yet the tallest, feeling oddly out of place, holding onto Laurie’s hand, Daniel’s shoulder leaning into his as they each reached for a handful of dirt ( _holy ground_ ) to sprinkle on top of the coffin before leaving the grave, open like a wound.

Memories flashed in front of his eyes – the last 20 minutes he got to spend with his dad in LA, 6 months and a lifetime ago, just playing catch in the middle of the street... It’s the simple things. Always have been. Everything else _just falls off like meat off the bone_... He did not know it then, but _in that simple game of catch, his father had given him the gift of his presence one final time..._

The distance gaping between them bridged over by the trajectory of a ball tossed and caught, back and forth, just like the words in their countless letters crossing the ocean over the years, but this time the lack of words was somehow healing.

**_And all that’s left is the love..._ **

**\---**

Varda came to pick him up, 13 years older and suddenly much gentler in his eyes than he remembered, her hand soft on his when she took in his slumped frame and tired face and her eyes caressed him as she did so. She calls him _David_ , with the distinct French pronunciation, and he doesn’t mind it at all... It has become their thing. After his father died. They had exchanged a few letters and he could always _hear_ the way his name sounded in her mouth, even on the paper...

\---

His father’s apartment on Rive Gauche, close to the Curie university, is small but bright, tall French windows / _truly French_ , he thinks with a chuckle/ framed by flowing gauze curtains letting in the soft light of early afternoon, illuminating the walls lined with endless bookshelves, stirring up little particles of dust gathering on the piles of old books and newspapers and the typewriter on his desk...

He steps in cautiously and it feels like stepping into history – he can see himself so clearly - a bright-eyed ten year old with curious mind, entering his dad’s study in Manhattan, just as cautious, but so eager to be with him, to be a part of his secret life, his other, parallel world... He can still smell the overpowering scent of books and paper and ink 33 years later - and when he inhales now, it still smells the same...

" _He was so very fond of you, **David**..."_

He turns around to see his step-mother /the once e _vil stepmother_ / standing in the doorway, handing him a glass of water and a small package... He looks at her quizzically, but accepts both with a slight nod of his head, sipping thirstily at his water and examining the parcel.

The return address is a London one and he finds it ironic that it says " _David’s Tea_ " on it.... _That’s a good one,_ he thinks to himself, curiosity already sparked. Nevertheless, he sets the it down and proceeds to drink his water while looking for some clean clothes.

Once again, Varda swoops in quietly to collect his dirty clothes for him and he doesn’t even fight her. He can see it now. His father had chosen himself a good woman. And he was loved when he died. And he can live with that...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again my special thanks go to my friend Vavie for all the French notes. Merci.


	30. Stars / Les Étoiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Such a long long time to be gone  
> and a short time to be there...  
> ~ Grateful Dead: Box of Rain  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9r8aycpHmY0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been told  
> That some stars in the sky  
> Shine a light  
> From stars that have died long ago  
> That explains when I look in your eyes  
> I see the light from a love  
> That died long ago
> 
> When the fire is dead  
> How can it be that the sparks still fly?  
> The ghost you left in my bed  
> The stars you stole from my empty sky  
> Still shine, in my head
> 
> I will ask  
> Of the stars  
> In the sky  
> If it’s true  
> That they're no longer alive anymore  
> Can they still  
> Keep on shining their light  
> So that I might find my way home one more night  
> Tonight
> 
> David Duchovny ~ Stars  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KtLPm2-Qgs

After his father died, after the numbness had lifted and the wound re-opened raw and gaping, he came back, wandering to the cemetery all by himself, strolling in the dead leaves, taking in the special kind of light that reflects off particles of decaying nature in the air... the light of fall and rise, the ever-changing circle of life...

He was determined then to _take_ _all of it in_ , to somehow capture and preserve the life surrounding him, making it into a treasure chest, a gift to his father – and to himself. He rode a bike down the crooked cobblestone streets, looking for locations, collecting stories every step of the way... His French was rusty, courtesy of _Madame Chatquipet_ /nobody, not even he, remembered her real name, but he sure as hell remembers the curve of her hips as she kept walking past his desk, stopping every once in a while to click her tongue at his countless mistakes/, but his other memories were vivid, sparking off of each other, creating a world of his own... A world in which he and his father could be together for one last time and forever...

It was a good time in his life, making him wish that his dad could have been there for more. At 43 he was at his prime, with his gorgeous wife of five years by his side, baby Miller and four year old West with them as they were enjoying la _vie en rose_ in the streets of Paris and all was right with the world...

Then came the dream-like days spent in the delightful company of Robin Williams, the eternal goof and such a gentle soul... Robin, ever the professional, would call him _boss_ from day one, knowing damn well that that would get him anywhere, and he felt an instant complicity with him. Maybe it was the underlying sadness they both felt under the cheerful surface of the other. The tenderness well protected by layers of sarcasm and cockiness and smart-talk. And yet... He sighs at the treasured memory filling his heart with gratitude and humbleness and his eyes with prickling tears... Another good man gone.

He is an atheist, always has been, or maybe it's the Jewish part of him that doesn't believe in afterlife, but looking around now, the afternoon sun illuminating the lush green grass, fragrant with the promise of spring and the better things to come, he _wants to believe_ , even if just for a brief moment in time, that those two men did indeed meet at some point, as they had left the earthly ties of their heavy bodies behind and ascended to eternity.

And with that thought in his mind and a spring in his step he heads over to Le Louvre for only one reason... Just to have one glance at the imposing statue of _Nike of Samothrace_ , half-woman wrapped in a barely-there drapery of see-through fabric clinging to her perfect curves - half-angel, with her wings spread out to fly, her whole posture suggesting that her feet are just barely touching the ground, her tendons straining towards the skylights of the museum, towards the higher worlds, the great beyond...

[ _https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winged_Victory_of_Samothrace_ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winged_Victory_of_Samothrace)

The statue has a body of a goddess, clearly, but no head, no face, which works just fine for him, because in his mind and his dreams there's only one face he sees every night, one pair of eyes that continue to haunt him and one set of wings he wants to feel flapping around...

 _ **Hope is a thing with feathers**_ , he recites to himself /unsure of where the choice of Emily Dickinson, the queen of turmoiled poets, came from/, as he makes his way back to his hotel-room, once again thinking of her smile and the way she moves and the sound of her voice...

_Hope is a thing with feathers_

_That perches in the soul_

_And sings the tune without the words_

_And never stops at all..._

\---

When he calls her that night, out of whatever whimsy of hers she chooses to also use the French pronunciation of his name – **_Da-vid_** – the way it actually stands in the Bible – the Hebrew one, reminding him of the way their father called them – _David_ and _Daniel_ – with the distinct " ** _i_** " sound in both names and the " ** _ch_** " sound in **_Duchovny_**. Her voice is breathy and her laughter bubbly and he doesn’t care what the f*ck she’s saying, as long as that sweet sound is filling his ear...

He misses _seeing_ her and though they could of course use Skype or FaceTime or LiveChat or any number of those modern ways of cheating the distance, it turns out that they are both too old-school for that and firm believers in absence truly making their hearts grow fonder, though their hearts /as well as the rest of their bodies/ are sometimes so fond that it’s hard / _so damn hard_ , he thinks/ to keep them in check. And a fleeting thought crosses his mind /that he hates himself for immediately, but it is already there/ - _what if she’s given in to the pleasures of the flesh /just because she can.../_ _–_ and he finds that thought unbearable...

\---

It is then that his eyes finally rest on the small box perched on the desk. He's been putting off opening it, like you do on Christmas Day, saving the best gift for last. But it is time, he decides, weighing it in the palm of his hand first, then tearing at the paper - and freeing a small blue tin that reads in nice lettering " _Back to Reality / Retour au train-train_ ". He smiles. There's no doubt who sent this. That's why it was sent from London, though she is not there at the moment. She knew he would be staying in Paris for a while and had it over-nighted here... His heart melts at the care she put into such a thoughtful gift and he instantly remembers the endless samples of teas he'd received over the years, some of them straight from India, Sri Lanka or Nepal. And all of them always read _Téa_ on them. A little inside joke of theirs. But not this time. It does say " _David's Tea_ " though and he has to chuckle to himself, appreciating just how clever she is and trying not to read too much into it, as he opens the tin to find a sachet of tea marked " _Get Smart_ " and then what he's been looking for all along - a small card saying " _8_ ".

" _Hope is a thing with feathers,_ " he whispers to himself, smiling through tears...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Vavie, for all the transcripts. I may not have used them here, but they were sure an absolute necessity for the story and it was with such pleasure that I have listened to David's (attempts at) French. Merci de tout mon coeur. You rock!  
> ***  
> Also:  
> Special thanks to Rachel, who planted the whole David's Tea idea in my head - and got me hooked on some really nice tea...  
> Yes, that thing really does exist and I can absolutely recommend it - https://www.davidstea.com/us_en/back-to-reality-tea-kit  
> You're welcome.


	31. There Ain't No Cure For Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “..since then I've taken a lot of Prozac, Paxil, Wellbutrin, Effexor, Ritalin, Focalin. I've also studied deeply in the philosophies of the religions but cheerfulness kept breaking through...” ~ Leonard Cohen
> 
> "...and the realization I had was that we go through our whole lives thinking we want answers. Really all we want is company, the presence of people we love in our lives.” ~ David Duchovny  
> http://vavieddfan.tumblr.com/post/138855679024/youokay-mulder-when-i-was-young-my-dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved you for a long, long time  
> I know this love is real  
> It don't matter how it all went wrong  
> That don't change the way I feel  
> And I can't believe that time's  
> Gonna heal this wound I'm speaking of  
> There ain't no cure for love 
> 
> I'm aching for you baby  
> I can't pretend I'm not  
> I need to see you naked  
> In your body and your thought  
> I've got you like a habit  
> And I'll never get enough  
> There ain't no cure for love 
> 
> There ain't no cure for love  
> All the rocket ships are climbing through the sky  
> The holy books are open wide  
> The doctors working day and night  
> But they'll never ever find that cure for love  
> There ain't no drink no drug  
> (Ah tell them, angels)  
> There's nothing pure enough to be a cure for love 
> 
> I see you in the subway and I see you on the bus  
> I see you lying down with me, I see you waking up  
> I see your hand, I see your hair  
> Your bracelets and your brush  
> And I call to you, I call to you  
> But I don't call soft enough  
> There ain't no cure for love 
> 
> I walked into this empty church I had no place else to go  
> When the sweetest voice I ever heard, whispered to my soul  
> I don't need to be forgiven for loving you so much  
> It's written in the scriptures  
> It's written there in blood  
> I even heard the angels declare it from above  
> There ain't no cure for love... 
> 
> Leonard Cohen ~ There Ain’t No Cure For Love  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F24VqlFBvrU

Friday, May 13, Paris - Sacré-Cœur

 

So there he is – on top of the world once again...

It’s been so long since he’d been here and he never thought of it that way – "the top of the world" being strictly reserved for the top of The Empire State Building, especially since the Twin Towers with The Windows of The World have been gone... He has yet to drag himself to the top of the Freedom Tower and he finds himself stalling, feeling somehow ambiguous about that whole project... In his mind, there was something sacrilegious about building anything at all on Ground Zero... but then again, we can't keep living in the past and dwelling on _would-have, could-have, should-have-been's_... He thinks it's symbolic to his life - and that of his dad - as to him 9/11 was the day of his father's birthday - and always will be, but it will also always be tainted by the horror of 15 years ago when history quite literally sweapt right through his home and things would never be the same again. It is times like that when you realize what really matters in your life - and what he _was_ doing at that time mattered not.

The thought makes him shiver and he tries to think of other, happier instances of being on top of the world – the memory of that glorious morning 8 days and several life-times ago easily slipping into his mind, the glory of waking up next to her – her soft warm form cuddled closely into him, the golden storm of sunlit hair splayed all over his bare chest, her breath tickling his face... For that fleeting moment in time she was _his_ – there was no distance between them – physically or emotionally. She had opened up her gates to him and let her walls down and gave herself to him so completely...

And he knew that once her eyes would open to the daylight, the ever-so-complicated reality of their lives reflecting in them in all of its monstrosity, the walls would slowly rise again and he’d be trapped halfway in and halfway out – and it may ever only be that way...

And yet – he’d give a half of his life for the other half to be filled by her... Hell, for 23 years he’s been doing just that – holding out for this... And if _this_ , whatever it is, is _all_ there is, it’s still a hell of a lot more than he had 8 years ago, when his life fell apart so completely and he was standing there in the shadows of his own shattered heart, hopelessly watching her move on with hers in no uncertain terms... When he felt her lips on his for one last time and they had left a scorching mark that never went away. When he would have given anything, _anything_ to be held by her the way she did that night – just one more time...

He's standing there at the Sacred Heart, overlooking the streets of Paris and thinking how blessed he is to have her in his life - on whatever terms... And then he sees her again - scampering down those washed-out white stairs in her girly /or _squirly_ / fashion, the sunlit locks of her hair whispering along her bare shoulders, slightly tanned, her freckles showing, the afternoon light reflecting off her face setting it aglow, as she turns around and gives him that beautiful smile - so wide and radiant - and he could swear that he could hear her voice carry over the chitter and chatter of the crowd surrounding them when her lips form the eight simple letters of I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U, followed by a hand gesture and an air kiss blown his way.

 _Her hands_... Always in motion like birds in flight, just like herself, the quicksilver quality of hers, always on the move, bringing her close and carrying her away, leaving him forever chasing after her...

 _And maybe she'll never be entirely mine_ \- the thought enters his mind with the clarity of the day - and yet, it doesn't scare him anymore. After 23 years of playing hide and seek with the illusion of eluding their destiny, only to come back full circle every single time, he does not need to _own_ her anymore. All he really needs is to just _feel free to love her_. At last. All he wants is for her to always be an integral part of his life - on whatever terms she chooses. He can live with that - as long as she's there.

And when he finally enters the cathedral, the holy light pouring in through the stain-glass windows washing over him, his mind is suddenly very clear and there is only one thought:

**_I don't need to be forgiven for loving you so much._ **

It's a sudden overwhelming feeling of relief - release and closure. A feeling greater than forgiveness, it's _freedom_ \- freedom from guilt, freedom to be who he is and love whomever the f*ck he chooses and though he never prays, he feels the need to sit down in the pew, put his head in his hands and let it sink in... He almost expects to hear an angel's voice, but there is no tune in his soul, just complete peace and quiet.

\---

Moments later he walks out into the sunshine a new man, as if washed clean of his sins, and so damn ready to collect some more. He feels alive, upbeat and inspired and when he sits on the age-old stairs, pulling out his notepad to jot down ideas for later, the words start pouring out of him like a stream rushing into a river, flowing into the sea, crossing the ocean and reaching the hearts of those he wants to touch and hold close tonight...

_So many days go by_

_I could fight the how but I let it slide_

_Famine, ignorance and war_

_Parked right outside my door_

_The years crawl, then fly by_

_I could fight it but I let it slide_

_Haven’t done enough for no one but me_

_My kids, your kids, everyone’s someone that needs_

_The years crawl, then fly by_

_I let it slide_

_I did what I did to survive_

_Is it too late to start_

_To open wide my selfish heart_

_I hear a voice stray from the crowd_

_Take yourself down to Montmarte_

_Cause here at the Sacred Heart_

_Everyone plays someone else’s part..._

 


	32. Cet Amour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tes mains sont tels des oiseaux dans le ciel..." // "Your hands are always like birds in flight..."
> 
> My homage to Jacques Prévert and also this... https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winged_Victory_of_Samothrace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cet amour - This love  
> Si violent - So violent  
> Si fragile - So fragile  
> Si tendre - So tender  
> Si désespéré - So desperate  
> Cet amour - This love  
> Beau comme le jour - Beautiful like the day  
> Et mauvais comme le temps - And wretched like the weather  
> Quand le temps est mauvais - When the weather is wretched  
> Cet amour si vrai - This love so true  
> Cet amour si beau - This love so beautiful  
> Si heureux - So happy  
> Si joyeux - So joyful  
> Et si dérisoire - And so ridiculous  
> Tremblant de peur comme un enfant dans le noir - Trembling with fear like a child at night  
> Et si sûr de lui - And so self-assured  
> Comme un homme tranquille au milieu de la nuit - Like a tranquil man in the quiet of the night  
> Cet amour qui faisait peur aux autres - This love that made other afraid  
> Qui les faisait parler - That made them gossip  
> Qui les faisait blémir - That made them pale  
> Cet amour guetté - This love watched  
> Parce que nous le guettions - Because we watched for her  
> Traqué blessé piétiné achevé nié oublié - Snared, wounded, trampled, finished, denied, forgotten  
> Parce que nous l'avons traqué blessé piétiné achevé nié oublié - Because we snared, wounded, trampled, finished, denied, forgot it  
> Cet amour tout entier - This love so complete  
> Si vivant encore - Still so alive  
> Et tout ensoleillé - And full of light  
> C'est le tien - It's yours  
> C'est le mien - It's mine  
> Celui qui a été - It has always been  
> Cette chose toujours nouvelles - Something new  
> Et qui n'a pas changé - And never changing  
> Aussi vraie qu'une plante - As real as a plant  
> Aussi tremblante qu'un oiseau - As trembling as a bird  
> Aussi chaude aussi vivante que l'été - As warm and vivid as a summer  
> Nous pouvons tous les deux - We both can  
> Aller et revenir - Go and return  
> Nous pouvons oublier - We can forget  
> Et puis nous rendormir - And go to sleep  
> Nous réveiller souffrir vieillir - Wake up, suffering, getting old  
> Nous endormir encore - And fall asleep again  
> Rêver à la mort - Dream about death  
> Nous éveiller sourire et rire - Wake up, smile and laugh  
> Et rajeunir - Young again  
> Notre amour reste là - Our love stays here  
> Têtu comme une bourrique - Obstinate as a mule  
> Vivant comme le désir - Vibrant as a desire  
> Cruel comme la mémoire - Cruel as a memory  
> Bête comme les regrets - Stupid as regret  
> Tendre comme le souvenir - Tender like a memory  
> Froid comme le marbre - Cold as marble  
> Beau comme le jour - Beautiful like a day  
> Fragile comme un enfant - Fragile like a child  
> Il nous regarde en souriant - It's watching us smiling  
> Et il nous parle sans rien dire - It's talking to us without saying anythinng  
> Et moi j'écoute en tremblant - And I'm listeing and trembling  
> Et je crie - And I'm crying  
> Je crie pour toi - I cry for you  
> Je crie pour moi - I cry for myself  
> Je te supplie - I am begging you  
> Pour toi pour moi et pour tous ceux qui s'aiment - For you for me for everyone who's ever loved  
> Et qui se sont aimés - And who is loved  
> Oui je lui crie - Yes, I am crying to her  
> Pour toi pour moi et pour tous les autres - For you, for me, for everyone else  
> Que je ne connais pas - That I don't know  
> Reste là - Stay here  
> Là où tu es -Where you are  
> Là où tu étais autrefois - Where you've always been...  
> Reste là - Stay there  
> Ne bouge pas - Don't move  
> Ne t'en va pas - Don't leave  
> Nous qui sommes aimés - We who are loved  
> Nous t'avons oublié - We have forgotten you  
> Toi ne nous oublie pas - Don't forget us  
> Nous n'avions que toi sur la terre - We don't have anyone but you on this planet  
> Ne nous laisse pas devenir froids - Don't let us get cold  
> Beaucoup plus loin toujours - Further and further every day  
> Et n'importe où - And it doesn't matter where  
> Donne-nous signe de vie - Give us a sign  
> Beaucoup plus tard au coin d'un bois - Further and further away in the nook of woods  
> Dans la forêt de la mémoire - In the forest of memory  
> Surgis soudain - Suddenly arise  
> Tends-nous la main - Give us your hand  
> Et sauve-nous. - And save us.
> 
> ~ Jacques Prevert

 Paris, Friday, May 13

 

“ _I miss you_ ,” he whimpers into the phone like a baby and she smiles, thinking what a long way they have come from the guarded, dismissive way they used to be around each other, through the subtle, secretive glances and stolen touches, to this – their phone calls becoming more and more intimate, spanning over the impossible distance of the ocean between them – and bringing them closer than ever.

“ _Tu me manques_ ,” she says quietly, her voice scratchy with the static of the line.

He holds his breath. This is the first time she said it back. And all it took was the cover of French – the language that is foreign to both of them somehow making it sound less real?

And then...

“ _Tu m'as **toujours** manqué..._” – _I have always missed you. **Always**._

His heart soars like a flock of doves above the white cupolas of  
Sacré Cœur. The Sacred Heart. How fitting...

“ _So..._ ” she switches to English, her own accent so infinitely sweet to his ears, “ _what is it that you miss about me?_ ”

 _What do I **not** miss_ , he thinks to himself, images of her flooding his mind – her eyes, deep, piercing blue, boring into his in the middle of the night, her skin soft on his, her hands... _her hands..._

 _“Tes mains..._ ” he says dreamily, still _feeling_ those hands upon himself and his voice catches in his throat a little. It’s shocking to him how much emotion seeps through one single word...

“ _Tes mains sont tels des oiseaux dans le ciel...”_ he says tenderly, probably quoting Prévert as the genius loci has already taken root, and he can _hear_ her smile...

“ _My hands... are... like birds...?_ ” she says slowly, thoughtfully, making him smile in return.

“ _Yes_ ,” he confirms quietly, “ _they’re always moving, always flapping around like birds wings in flight..._ ”

And once again his mind travels to all the times they were sitting next to each other in an interview and he’d just watch her gesticulate wildly and then her hand would suddenly land on his - grazing his wrist or his arm or his thigh... and before he knew it, he’d find himself waiting for those moments, holding his breath in anticipation. And then it happened and his breath quickened and he could feel the rush of blood coursing through his veins while she kept going on and on, seemingly oblivious to his state, but when she turned to look at him, to really _see_ him, her face was flushed and there was that gleam in her eyes that told him that she was enjoying it just as much...

“ _Et qu'est ce qui te manque le plus_?” he asks sheepishly, _what is it that you miss about me?_

 _“Tes yeux,_ ” she responds without a moment of hesitation. _His eyes_. It has always been his eyes. Their depth and the light behind his eyelashes, a certain kind of light that always shone on her...

 _“La courbe de tes yeux fait le tour de mon coeur...”_ she recites, skimming through the scattered lines escaping her memory, remembering only

_“Feuilles de jour et mousse de rosée, roseaux du vent, sourires parfumés, ailes couvrant le monde de lumière..._

_The leaves of the day and the moss of the dew and the wind and the smile and the wings covering the world in light..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...to be continued...
> 
> This is just a little glimpse to keep me going and a HUGE thank you to Vavie, who's been guiding me through the streets of Paris and the secrets of the Sacred Heart... Je t'ai dejá dit merci aujour'hui? xx


	33. Un Dia Sin Ti / Spending My Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Su joven lujuria se habia convertido en amor y entonces su amor volvo a envejecer en lujuria. Era un círculo. Fue en milagro. Fue la alquimia de la carne.” // “His young lust had turned to love and then his love had aged back into lust. It was a circle. It was a miracle. It was the alchemy of flesh.”  
> ~ David Duchovny: The Doublemint Man /Bucky F*cking Dent
> 
> "In the past, I've gone towards dangerous men. I wouldn't consider Tom Cruise dangerous. I do think David Duchovny is dangerous."  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, May 1999, Cosmo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's the time? - Qué hora es  
> Seems its already morning - Bienvenida la mañana  
> I see the sky, its so beautiful and blue - Tan sola yo y el cielo tan azul  
> The TV's on - En mi café, en mi radio y en mi tele  
> But the only thing showing is a picture of you - Siempre estas tu
> 
> Oh, I get up and make myself some coffee - Para empezar me levanto de la cama  
> I try to read a bit but the story's too thin - Y voy vistiéndome así como así  
> Then I thank the Lord above - Gracias a dios  
> That you're not there to see me - Tú no puedes verme  
> In this shape I'm in - Llorando por ti 
> 
> Spending my time – Corou un día sin ti  
> Watching the days go by - Es una eternidad  
> Feeling so small - Es un adiós que duele por dos  
> I stare at the wall - Solo esperar, la soledad  
> Hoping that you think of me too - Busco tu voz  
> I'm spending my time – Un dia sin ti...
> 
> I try to call but I don't know what to tell you - El teléfono me lleva al cuarto gris  
> I leave a kiss on your answering machine - De tu contestador  
> Oh, help me please - Ayúdame yo no sé como pasarme  
> Is there someone who can make me  
> Wake up from this dream?  
> No tengo amigos, ni otra cosa que hacer  
> Solo pienso fuertemente en ti, Me niego a ser tu amor a cambio de un día sin ti
> 
> Spending my time – Corou un día sin ti  
> Watching the days go by - Es una eternidad  
> Feeling so small - Es un adiós que duele por dos  
> I stare at the wall - Solo esperar, la soledad  
> Hoping that you are missing me too - Es una pena 
> 
> I'm spending my time  
> Watching the sun go down  
> I fall asleep to the sound  
> Of "tears of a clown"  
> A prayer gone blind  
> I'm spending my time...
> 
> Roxette ~ Spending My Time / Un Dia Sin Ti  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hdzSl4af-aM  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ed6x2f2Ctpk

Madrid, Monday, May 16

There's days of vast emptiness between the thrill of the shows and the drag of the travel and all of the circus around... He is thankful. He really is. But the thought of himself as mere merchandise, as an object, a puppet that can be moved around against its own will – is bridling and terrifying and annoying to no end... He needs time and space to breathe. He needs peace and quiet... He needs to hear her again...

It isn’t until Monday, his and her next day off, that he gets to spend the whole evening with her, his favourite time... Wednesdays and Saturdays are hard, with her double features – starting matinees at 2, which gives her barely 2 hours to recover before her evening performance at 7.30 and with the six hour time difference it leaves them no time to catch up, aside from a quick text in the morning and a kiss good-night/good luck – at 6pm for him (her noon) and after his show at midnight (before hers at 7). It’s rushed and it’s intense and it’s shocking to him how much he’s come to depend on it...

So Monday it is.... a quiet moment at last...

After spending the day catching up on some much needed sleep and exploring Madrid, checking out the stadium in the fittingly named neighbourhood called Hispanoamérica, and missing the beach, he happily retires to his hotel room no later than at 5pm, spending some time fixing his new tea, the thought of her picking it out and giggling at her choice making him smile, then getting comfy on a couch and waiting for her call, knowing that she is probably going through her morning ritual – a quick shower while her coffee’s brewing (she likes to make her own when she can), maybe a little yoga when she feels motivated enough, then enjoying a nice slow breakfast – half a bagel, a plate of fresh fruits, maybe some cheese... In his mind’s eye he can see her nibbling at all those things, busying her hands with a fork and her phone and her hair, wet from the shower and smelling like lavender, her face perfectly naked in the morning sun, her freckles popping to the surface, calling out to him to kiss them...

They haven’t had nearly enough quiet mornings like this, but the few ones they did have were always spectacular...

The phone rings shortly after five and he picks up immediately, his hands on the screen already, staring lovingly at one of the pictures he snapped secretly while she was sleeping – tangled in his sheets, her blonde hair partly covering her face, so peaceful and innocent, her lips parted just the way they would when calling out his name moments ago...

The icon that announces her incoming call is one she had taken and set up for him herself – it’s her making a face at him in the bathroom mirror while he’s standing behind her, his hands wrapped tightly around her tiny waist and his lips on her neck... You can barely see his form in the shadows and the fog on the mirror, but you can absolutely tell he is there just from the look on her face.

He loves that picture – and though it’s probably not the best choice, considering the off chance that anyone else might see it, every time _he_ sees it, it is right where he wants to be...

She sounds breathless, but relaxed, which tells him that she did do her yoga and is probably lounging with her tea now, marveling at the magnificent view of the Brooklyn Bridge that never gets old, and he wishes he could just walk up behind her, wrap her in his arms and pull her into him and not let go...

The conversation is light and cheerful, floating on the surface, making it feel as though they were sitting next to each other, just catching up, sharing, talking about their past couple of days...

He tells her about going to Le Marais to check out the artists and the Jewish quartier and the great vegan burgers at “ _Hank Burgers_ ”, which makes her chuckle with delight. He won’t tell her about the other place he visited, not just yet...

She asks about his concert and he tells her about the crowd on stage and all the love he had felt and she makes a whistling sound and murmurs approvingly.

“ _Who would have thought that you’d become a rock star, huh..._ ”

There’s a slight edge in her voice, but it’s also laced with genuine pride and he suddenly realizes that in most of the things he has done in his life, he was secretly hoping for just that – impressing his girl... Never in his wildest dreams would he have dared to believe though that it might be her...

She’s telling him about the crowds of _her_ fans and all the places they have come from to see her – her voice breaking a little with emotion – he can tell how touched and how proud she is – and he is so damn proud of her. She sent him a picture of the map she had made where she’s been marking all the places. _It’s pretty f*cking neat_ , he thinks, once again hit by the realization of just how damn lucky he is to have her in his life. No matter how far, no matter on what terms – as long as she is there... And yet... He wants to know just where exactly he’s standing right now...

He waits for a pause – a moment for an angel to pass... Then he takes the leap.

“ _The other day..._ ” he starts cautiously, his hesitation palpable in the tone of his voice and the way his breathing changes...

She waits quietly. She’s become good at that. Her breath is even and soft. He can hear it and it’s reassuring in its familiarity. He loves just lying there, listening to her breathing, imagining that she’s next to him... It’s become a habit. And he misses her the second the line goes silent at the end of each day...

“ _When you said you missed me too..._ ” he continues, unsure of where he’s going with that... _What did it mean...? What does it mean to her? This... whatever it is..._ He never thought he’d be the one who needs to know. He does though. It’s been eating away at him... So it has come to that..

“ _Did you..._ ” another pause... “ _do you...?_ ”

The silence flowing back is long and meaningful and he can hear his own heart beating in response.

“ _I miss..._ ” she starts with hesitation, then pauses.

For whatever reason – that not even she herself is quite aware of, she can’t bring herself to say it out loud, not in English, not in their shared language, not at a distance like this... She could show him though, she thinks... she’s sure she could...

“ _I really miss your lips_ ,” she breathes out finally and the sound of her voice travels over the ocean like white foam whispering on the edges of a tidal wave, the spray sprinkling all over his nerve endings, igniting his core, eliciting a small moan...

_Her name._

Her name sounds so safe in his mouth. Like it belongs there. Like his lips on hers. She feels safe with him in ways she’d never felt before, the feeling new to her, fresh and fragile, like a newly hatched bird, its wings still wet and too weak to fly. She’s never allowed herself to feel that way with anyone else. Not even with him – way back when... And yet, there’s a been a shift, a change of tide. Something about him, something about his presence in her life makes her feel brave and bold...

“ _I miss your lips... on **me**..._ ”

She doesn’t specify and it is so easy for him to let his mind slip to dangerous thoughts of not just her mouth – soft and wet with saliva as her tongue glides over her lips and _her_ _teeth gleam like the alphabet..._ Her lips parted for his tongue, strong and assaulting, searching hers with purpose.

 _“They are so full and warm and they fit mine so perfectly..._ ”

She’s going on and on and he can hear how her voice has dropped as her breathing grew shallow.

“ _Go on..._ ” he urges in a whisper, feeling his groin tighten with just the anticipation of her words... her _voice_...

For all he cares, she could be reading an owner’s manual to the TV set right now and it would still make him hard.

He can hear her smile into the phone, as if she can read his mind – and he wouldn’t be surprised if she could. Nothing about her would surprise him anymore...

Or so he thinks.

“ _Is this..._ ” she pauses again, finding herself unable to say the words she’s thinking, that they are _both_ thinking...

“ _Are you..._ ”

 _Damnit!_ She’s a grown woman, for f*ck’s sake. Why is this so hard for her...

 _Hard_ , yes, that’s that word... _just say it_...

“ _Is this turning you on?_ ” she asks then with an air of innocence, but her voice is low and sultry, which _alone_ makes his soft moans turn into a full blown growl...

There she has her answer.

And just like that, his voice cuts through her and sets her on fire.

There’s another pause and their breathing mingling over the line is the most sensual sound they’ve heard in a while. He’s struggling not to touch himself, when he can’t touch her. He’s wondering if he has the same effect on her.

“ _Can you..._ ” she hesitates again, cursing herself for suddenly being so bad with words, “ _I mean, are you alone?_ ”

He nods, as if she could hear him, then hisses a barely audible “ _yes”_ into the phone.

“ _Good_ ,” she says quickly, seizing the sudden rush of courage that came along with her own growing arousal...

“ _What are you wearing?_ ” she asks and he can’t believe he didn’t think of that one first.

He looks down at his worn shirt and jeans that are suddenly getting much less comfortable than they were moments ago.

“ _The usual_ ,” he says with a remarkable effort to control his voice.

When there’s no response, he adds: “ _A twin shirt to the one I believe you have in your possession_ ,” which wins him an “ _awww_ ” from her, and encouraged by that, he adds, “ _and a pair of shockingly uncomfortable jeans..._ ”

That makes her chuckle and suck in a breath.

“ _Yeah huh?_ ” she says then, dragging out the sound. “ _I wonder how that happened..._ ”

She’s feeling playful and he likes it. He likes it a lot. He hits the button to put his phone on speaker and unbuttons his jeans, the contact of his own hand with his penis making it so sensitive it hurts. Now it’s his turn to hiss and of course it won’t go unnoticed.

She lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and it takes a form of his name.

“ _David, are you... have you just...?”_

_F*ck. What the f*ck is wrong with her?_

It doesn’t help that her own mind is getting cloudy with visions of him on some hotel room bed, his pants undone, his hands where hers should be...

The thought makes her head swim and her flesh throb for him.

“ _Yeah...?_ ” he whispers in her ear and it’s more a confirmation of her thoughts than a question.

“ _Good boy_ ,” she says approvingly and he never thought it could be _such_ a turn-on. His erection is throbbing painfully now and he starts stroking himself softly to relieve the pressure. There’s something secretive or forbidden about it, even though he knows that she knows and she makes it no secret that she’s enjoying it. He hasn’t done this in a very long time – since his early days in marriage, and though there have been many nights when he’d found his release thinking of _her_ , picturing _her_ hands on him, this is the first time she’s actually present for that... It’s a very exciting thought and by G*d he needs her present more...

“ _Your turn_ ,” he gets out between ragged breaths, not even trying to control his breathing anymore...

When once again there is no response other than a sharp inhale, he urges on, his mind on high alert.

“ _What are **you** wearing?_ ”

There’s a slight chuckle on her line, as she struggles to make a choice between just telling him the plain truth or keeping up the game she's been playing with him.

He quite honestly doesn’t care either way, because he knows damn well that he is already gone, but he just loves listening to her, her voice having the same effect on him as her hands...

“ _Not much of anything, really,_ ” she teases, sliding her hand under the cream-coloured silk of her robe and along the curve of her breast, cupping it and pinching a nipple, trying to remember and imitate his touch...

It is then when she hits the camera button on her phone to let him see...

He can’t see it immediately, as his phone is lying on the table to free his hands for more important matters, but when he does...

When he does pick it up, he can see a blur of creamy curves, a hem of silky fabric and her hand skimming her own skin...

 _“Jesus,_ ” he cries out, unable to stick to his newly re-discovered Jewish roots any more than he can stick to keeping this chaste.

For a moment he wishes he had his reading glasses at hand, but what he _does_ have _in_ his hand right now will have to do... and it seems to be doing just fine...

It takes him a moment to recognize what exactly is going on, but he can make out the curve of her thigh now and her hand aiming at the folds unseen to his eyes, but imagination along with his photographic memory is doing a pretty fine job of filling the blanks. He can tell by her sharp sigh that the hand has reached its destination and his own hand picks up speed and pressure.

He starts mumbling nonsensical stuff, trying not to be graphic, but describing in a voice strange even to himself all the places where he wants to touch her and kiss her, being rewarded by a moan and a sigh after each and every one. Her phone has been long disposed on the couch at her side, so all he can see now is a blur of light, but it perfectly fits his current state of mind, so he doesn’t mind at all...

She’s gone quiet, words failing her, their communication on a different level now, it’s no longer their minds speaking to each other, it’s just their bodies, the pleasure of the flesh...

He can hear her struggling up the ladder to her release and he manages to make a semi-coherent sentence:

“ _What is it that you want?_ ” - And her answer is all _he_ ever wanted.

“ _You_ ,” she cries out with an unexpected force, her voice hitching in her throat, and then softer, in sync with her breath, “ _I want you... inside me... I want your lips... on my... on my breasts... and on my neck... and... aaaahhh..._ ”

“ _Yessss_ ,” he hisses, “ _you got it... You got it... I am there... right there with you, baby... just stay with me..._ ”

“ _I can’t_ ,” she almost whimpers, her sighs so heavy and her words scattered over the distance... “ _I just want to... I want to..._ ”

“ _Yes, that’s it... just do it... you can do it..._ ”

“ _I just want to come..._ ” her voice trails off and for a moment he’s afraid they’ve lost connection... there’s a skip of a heartbeat, a static crack, a deep moan coming from the days and weeks and months of longing...

“ _Let go_ ,” he urges softly, taking deep breaths to calm down and will himself to wait for her, “ _come to me, baby... Just let go... I’m here... I’m here to catch you when you fall..._ ”

And then she does. She calls out his name one last time and then she’s falling, falling over the edge, her wings unfolding from within, strong and white and beautiful...

And he can see them, in his mind’s eye, he can see _her_ , her head thrown back, her mouth open, her eyes shut tight, her back arched against him... and he follows close behind, close enough to catch her, to hold her, to press her against his chest and not let go... not ever again, as her wings carry them both away.

\---

Then silence. A symphony of breathing. None of them wanting to say the first words, afraid to break the spell...

But she does. She will. She owes him after all...

It takes her a moment to find her voice, her lips dry and cracked and her mind too fuzzy, but she has got to get it out – and she will. And when she does, her voice is strong and firm, leaving no room for doubt.

“ ** _This_** _**is how I miss you**_ **.** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe that it's been 6 months since I started this story on a whim on one rainy April afternoon - and look where it's taken me...  
> 6 months and 38.000 words later, here we are, and I feel as if these characters have just taken on a life of their own. It's not me writing them, it's themselves doing their thing... There isn't much left to this story in my head, but in my heart I can see it unfolding till eterninty... 
> 
> I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who's been through this journey with me, encouraging me, inspiring me, helping with research and corrections and just... being there... You know who you are. Love you all and every one.
> 
> xx me
> 
> P.S. Please don't be shy to call me out on any mistakes or just plain BS that may have irked you about this, as well as to bring up ideas of where to take them next...


	34. Please Read The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who really needs their innermost self to be known by more than two or three or four people?”  
> ~ David Duchovny, The Guardian 2016  
> http://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2016/feb/05/david-duchovny-xfiles-mulder-gillian-anderson?CMP=share_btn_tw
> 
> “Yeah. I am a mix of normal, safe, quiet, regimented, serious, morally and ethically led – or at least I try to be for the most part. Then every once in a while – or maybe more than once in a while – there is a part of me that is incredibly reckless. I think it bubbles underneath all the time, but as a mother, and an earner, and a responsible working woman, I override many things that might be irresponsible. Most of the time.”  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, The Telegraph 2016  
> http://www.telegraph.co.uk/tv/2016/09/16/gillian-anderson-the-fall-and-the-rise/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caught out running  
> With just a little too much to hide  
> Maybe baby  
> Everything's gonna work out fine  
> Please read the letter  
> I pinned it to your door  
> It's crazy how it all turned out  
> We needed so much more
> 
> Too late, too late  
> A fool could read the signs  
> Maybe baby  
> You'd better check between the lines  
> Please read the letter, I  
> Wrote it in my sleep  
> With help and consultation from  
> The angels of the deep
> 
> Once I stood beside a well of many words  
> My house was full of rings and  
> Charms and pretty birds  
> Please understand me, my  
> Walls come falling down  
> There's nothing here that's left for you  
> But check with lost and found  
> Please read the letter that I wrote
> 
> One more song just before we go  
> Remember baby  
> All the things  
> We used to know  
> Please read my letter  
> And promise you'll keep  
> The secrets and the memories and  
> Cherish in the deep  
> Please read the letter that I wrote
> 
> Robert Plant, Alison Krauss ~ Please Read The Letter  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjs0p5FWpzc

The “morning after”... is not really a morning for her. She has the whole night to let the second thoughts catch up with her... But she refuses to let them. The memory of him... of _them_ won’t let them in this time.

After they’d come down from their high, their breathing quieted, slowly followed by soothing words and little endearments they never had used before... It was their little stolen moment of eternity. Maybe the distance made it somehow easier, safer for them to just be themselves. Maybe it was the longing and the lack of physical contact that had left them with nothing but words... She could feel them rising in her chest like beautiful birds, their wings beating against her ribcage, trying to break free...

 _I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you..._ An endless rhythmical chant, in sync with his breathing in her ear. She was suddenly feeling cold, missing the warmth of his skin on hers, the safe embrace of his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the familiarity of it all... His voice was the only way she could _feel_ him, as it wrapped around her like a safety blanket.

Warm and scratchy like a cat’s tongue, licking her clean, catching on the sensitive skin of her ear and her neck as he murmured sweet nothings while slowly drifting off to sleep, telling her about all the little things he missed about her – and she was amazed by all the details he had picked up on over the years that he would never let on... that _she_ wasn’t even aware of...

He’s telling her about the way her hands always move and flutter and how he finds himself constantly watching in amazement, wishing them on himself.

And of the way she always plays with her hair, twirling it between her fingers like a schoolgirl. Sometimes it leaves them locked in little curls that he wants to run his hands over to smooth them out again.

The way her hair smells – like rosemary and lavender and how he’s come to associate those scents with her... And how he can never pass the herbs stand at the farmer’s market without smelling them and thinking of her for that very reason...

She smiles at that thought and he thinks of the little bits of lavender he’d been keeping in the pockets of his jeans and jackets, running his fingers over them on occasion, only to be able to recall the way she smells... Though reality has always exceeded any imagination...

“ _It’s chamomile, too,_ ” she discloses in a hushed tone, as if sharing a deep secret.

“ _Aaaaaah,_ ” he hums, making a mental note, cataloguing it away for further use...

Then he proceeds to tell her about the cuts and bruises on her legs that have always been there and made him think that she was a _klutz,_ before he realized that that’s just who she was – always throwing herself at life with full force. There have been a few new ones since the rerun of Streetcar that he’d kissed over and over again, as if he believed that he could make them go away, and he was wondering how many new ones have popped up since and if she takes care of them at all when he is not around...

Then there’s that slight quirk of her lip that’s always been her secret weapon and his downfall.

The way she licked her lips when she was thinking and, as he’s learned only recently, just before kissing him... Which made him wonder how many of those times in the past she was actually _thinking of kissing him_... Which in turn made her chuckle with delight.

“ _There have been a few times_ ,” she admits then with ease... like that damn wall had crumbled after all, and suddenly it was so easy to just let those words out...

And he didn’t even have to touch her...

“ _Tell me_ ,” he says sleepily and she can feel the blood rush to her face.

“ _Oh, you know..._ ” she tries to brush it off, but she knows better than to try fooling him now that she’s allowed him to shine his light through her cracks...

“ _No I don’t, actually_ ,” his voice sounds tired, but there’s no mistaking of the genuine curiosity lacing it and she knows that he’s not letting that one go. Because like the _Little Prince_ and just like all of her children, he won’t give up on a question until he gets an answer.

“ _Well you may not be aware of it, Mr. Duchovny_ ,” she says teasingly, “ _but your lips are quite kissable..._ ” She uses her best mock-seductive tone and it’s his turn to chuckle.

“ _So I’ve heard_ ,” he says lazily, “ _but I want details..._ ”

“ _Details, huh_ ,” she laughs, “w _ell, I don’t know... I guess... jeez, this is weird... well you know... you do remember the times when I had kissed you, don’t you? Is this a trick question?”_

Now they’re both laughing and he remembers with such fondness all the times (though they were few and far between) when she’d allow herself the comfort of his embrace (when _he_ would allow her) and the couple of times when it didn’t stop at just that... They could _never_ stop at just that – and he hated her for that a little. For having such control over him. It never occurred to him that it could have worked the other way round, too. That it wasn’t just a game... _that maybe she had fallen just as hard_...

It is his last thought before he drifts off with her soft voice caressing him, enveloping his senses, her words lost to him when she finally says:

“ _I am so sorry, David... I’m sorry that we always seem to have missed each other..._ ”

She pauses then, a sudden surge of long suppressed emotions threatening to overwhelm her. There’s so much more she wants to tell him, now that her words have finally broken free, but the line has gone quiet. She can hear his peaceful breathing interrupted by an occasional sigh, and she finds herself unable to end the call...

\---

The actual morning the next day is way more prosaic – it’s bright and lonely and the only thing to greet her is a neat pile of mail that her assistant has sorted out the night before and now she's left with the ones “worth her attention” – topped with a plain white envelope with crisp handwriting that immediately causes her heart to leap...

She takes it in her hands and wills them to stop from shaking. She would know the handwriting anywhere and she can’t f*cking believe that after all the years and the few rare letters they have exchanged, she would still have such a strong physical reaction to seeing her name written by his hand...

She hesitates before opening it, as if it should contain some life-altering news, a pardon or a death sentence... How pathetic of her. You’d almost expect a wax seal on it, the way she’s handling it with precaution and care, but then her curiosity wins over and she rips open the envelope, pulling out a panoramic card of what seems like a blackboard with white chalk scribbling on it and a few red... birds?

She finds herself mesmerized by the image, making out some of the words:  _je_ _t’aime_ and _te quiero_ , and when she flips it over to find out the name of the artist, her eyes fall upon the sloppy lines of words scattered across the small page like bird tracks...

_Dear Gillian,_

_It’s Friday the 13 th, and look where I am at. I didn’t know this wall existed when I was here back in 2003, but it had. Maybe I wasn’t meant to see it then – and I am now. So here I am, 13 years later, standing under 311 expressions of love in 250 different languages... and all I can think of is having you here by my side. To tell you this. _

_Which may be a bit overdue, considering that this is how I've felt for a while now...  a little over 20 years to be exact._

_I believe it’s day 7 today, but hoping that by the time you get this, time will have moved closer to the moment I will finally hold you in my arms..._

_Happy day 4._

_Love you. Always and in everything._

_D._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you can see the card that Gillian got. A little gift - from me to you <3  
> http://www.lesjetaime.com/english/


	35. Set The Fire To The Third Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is only on a film set that all the chatter and the nonsense in my head go quiet and I really, truly know who I am... Acting is actually the one area in my life that I don't feel that I am fucking up in some way!"  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, Vogue UK, 7/2006  
> http://gilliananderson.ws/transcripts/04_05/06vogue.shtml
> 
> “What Lily craved was the darkness made by enfolding arms, the silence which is not solitude, but compassion holding its breath.”  
> ~ Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth  
> https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/w/wharton/edith/house_of_mirth/part1.13.html

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find the map and draw a straight line  
> Over rivers, farms, and state lines  
> The distance from 'A' to where you'd be  
> It's only finger-lengths that I see  
> I touch the place where I'd find your face  
> My fingers in creases of distant dark places
> 
> I hang my coat up in the first bar  
> There is no peace that I've found so far  
> The laughter penetrates my silence  
> As drunken men find flaws in science
> 
> Their words mostly noises  
> Ghosts with just voices  
> Your words in my memory  
> Are like music to me
> 
> I'm miles from where you are,  
> I lay down on the cold ground  
> I, I pray that something picks me up  
> And sets me down in your warm arms
> 
> After I have travelled so far  
> We'd set the fire to the third bar  
> We'd share each other like an island  
> Until exhausted, close our eyelids  
> And dreaming, pick up from  
> The last place we left off  
> Your soft skin is weeping  
> A joy you can't keep in
> 
> I'm miles from where you are,  
> I lay down on the cold ground  
> And I, I pray that something picks me up  
> and sets me down in your warm arms
> 
> Snow Patrol ~ Set The Fire To The Third Bar  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LUM-NvYYjEg

Driving through the long and broad avenues of Lower Manhattan, she feels a sudden pang of nostalgia – a mixture of longing for those long gone days of her carefree youth, the surge of freedom, so overpowering you could get drunk on it, and the ache for the soothing familiarity of London – the quiet morning walks through Camden, the comfort of the countryside, Devon, Exeter... She’s thinking back to green pastures and stone walls covered in moss and flocks of white fluffy sheep... and wondering when did that happen – when did she become like that, so tied to her home, so down-to-earth, where was the need for peace and quiet coming from?

She still vividly remembers the time when she used to love the buzz of the city – when she was in her twenties and everyone wanted to live in New York – that’s where the life was happening. But she feels old now, tired. Life’s worn her down and out and what she suddenly yearned for, what caught her by surprise, was, of course, what she couldn’t have... “ _the darkness made by enfolding arms, the silence which is not solitude_...” She was tired of the constant running. She wanted to settle down. To be held. Held down if needs be...

\---

She unlocks the door at her first attempt this time and stepping in with a deep sigh, she kick off her heels and unclasps her bra before the door even shuts close behind her... Exhausted, she walks over to the couch and checks the time – it’s almost 2 am – 8 for him and he’s probably already in transit. She couldn’t reach him on the phone earlier and the messages didn’t get through. He did say he’d catch the first plane out, but there had been no specifics... Never any specifics with him. Always living on a whim.

She’s so used to doing the time difference calculation by now – back and forth between New York and London, New York and continental Europe, New York and LA, London and LA... but now she’s lost, because he’s somewhere in the air and he might as well be in the outer space for that matter, because not knowing where exactly he is and what time-zone applies there has left her with nothing to hold on to, no facts, just thin air...

She’s walking through the rooms aimlessly, shedding her dress like snakes skin, wishing she could shed her own skin with it... It’s been a month and there’s two more weeks left of this madness. She loves this play, this part so much, always has, but she feels so exhausted, raw, beat and _bruised on every corner of her being_. She just needs to rest, she knows it, but as always, her mind keeps going a mile a minute and she can’t seem to stop it.

There’s always that chatter, the noises in her head that only disappear when she’s on set...

Or in his arms...

If only she knew where he was at. When he would be here. When she’d see him again... It’s funny how they made it through months of minimal contact – and these two weeks seem infinite... And the closer they get to seeing each other again, the more unbearable the distance seems...

She shakes her head as if she could shake those thoughts out of it, brushes her teeth, watching he own face fade away in the foggy mirror, then roots in the clean wash for one of his shirts and holds it against her face, trying to breath him in. Pulling it over her head, she steps out of the bathroom, turning off the light and letting the darkness embrace her...

 **_...the darkness made by enfolding arms, the silence which is not solitude_ ** **...**

There it is again...

She closes her eyes and snuggles under the heavy covers, feeling cold and lost without his arms around her. She takes a couple of deep breaths, willing her body to relax. _Breathe in, breathe out..._ The ebb and flow of her breath, her mind, her thoughts... wave after wave washing over her until her fatigue finally pulls her under and just before she falls asleep a fleeting thought crosses her mind:

_Maybe all of her life she’s been looking for someone to save her – from herself._


	36. Real Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm damaged in many ways. And yet a lot of what my fight is about is pushing through that to live a meaningful, sane existence and make a difference and play to my strengths."  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, 2016
> 
> "We're born in time. We have to die. We all lose in the end. So we're joined by that - that's our common bond. That's the love between us as we all understand how hard it is to go through this thing. Together. Victory in many ways can separate people. But I think loss can bring them back together. So I think it's our own shared humanity in acknowledging that it's hard out here..."  
> ~ David Duchovny, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my little plans and schemes  
> Lost like some forgotten dreams  
> Seems like all I really was doing  
> Was waiting for you...
> 
> Just like little girls and boys  
> Playing with their little toys  
> Seems like all they really were doing  
> Was waiting for you
> 
> Don't need to be alone  
> No need to be alone  
> It's real love, It's real...
> 
> From this moment on I know  
> Exactly where my life will go  
> Seems that all I really was doing  
> Was waiting for love
> 
> Don't need to be afraid  
> No need to be afraid  
> It's real love, It's real...
> 
> John Lennon ~ Real Love  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ze7MjZmKZRc

_Saturday, May 20, 5:30am, NYC, 60 th and 5th _

His city before dawn... The city that he’s got under his skin. Waking up, changing shifts, changing tide... The twilight zone... That’s when he loves it the most. That’s when his writing is happening. When everybody else is asleep... Though this city never sleeps – there’s always life out in the streets. The streets that he’s passing through right now, so happy to be just a common pedestrian for once, getting off his cab just a few blocks away from his place – with the sole purpose of taking the 2 mile walk down 5th Avenue, cutting through the park and past the Reservoir to his 19th floor apartment on 92nd, his _3000 steps_... It gives him time to sort out his thoughts, to both wake up and calm down /how “ _zen_ ” of him/, to take it all in and let it all out...

The morning people are only few and far between, everyone minding their own business, a few scattered joggers here and there, a random dog-walker, some trash men, what he would like to believe is a milkman, the ever-present homeless people, modern gypsies, who seem quite content living their free lives with nothing to bind them to their earthly possessions. Sometimes his inner hippie, the part that his “mature”, intellectual self had suppressed to the distant corners of his mind and heart, bursts out in the open, wishing for a carefree life like that...

But not today, today he does have an aim and a purpose – he has someplace to be, he has a home and the closer he gets to it, the more alive he feels. He’s taking mental notes of everything happening around him – _life itself, crazy and beautiful_ – his eyes his cameras, his mind his notebook, cataloguing everything away: the endless streams of yellow cabs, the honking of their horns, the constant murmur and hum, the myriads of various accents assaulting his ears...

He almost feels like covering them – just for a little bit, to stay in his cool bubble of detachment for just a little longer, to enjoy the safety of being a stranger in a strange land, the language of which – German, French, Spanish – he knows so little of that it cannot hurt him in any way...

He takes a deep breath and picks up speed, feeling like running the last couple hundred yards, fighting the incredible fatigue with even more physical activity, his default.

\---

He finally enters his apartment, shrugging off his leather jacket that has been his companion for over two weeks straight now, making his way to the bathroom without even bothering to turn the lights on as the first rays of light already make their way through the curtains, shy, but invincible.

He’s shot, absolutely exhausted, physically and emotionally, worn out by the shocking amount of physical activity his concerts have unexpectedly resulted in, as well as overwhelmed by the constant outpouring of love from fans from all over the world. Yes, he has known that part for over twenty years now, the craziness, the squealing crowds of teenage girls at ComiCons, the strange (love?)letters, being approached on the street by complete strangers, being asked even stranger things, all of the shades of insanity – he’s seen them and lived them... and yet...

Never before had he been this _close_ to a crowd, to the point of actually being a _part_ of it – to be able to _feel_ the love, to allow himself to be _touched_ by it, by them... to feel the unity with other humans... What an indescribable boost for the ego, he thought. And back in the day – just this would probably have been enough to send him over the edge – _freefalling_...

But that is not where he’s at now... He is over it, above it.

Of course it is infinitely lovely to be loved like that, but it also scares the sh*t out of him. He had been on the dangerous ground before. He _knows_ just how easy it is to slip... and fall... There’s only a few people in the whole world whose love he really truly needs. And one of them is finally in the same city, on the same continent as him right now – and just that thought alone makes him feel so happy and very much _alive_.

 


	37. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is so easy for a woman to become  
> what the man she loves believes her to be”  
> ~ Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love is real, real is love  
> Love is feeling, feeling love  
> Love is wanting to be loved
> 
> Love is touch, touch is love  
> Love is reaching, reaching love  
> Love is asking to be loved
> 
> Love is you  
> You and me  
> Love is knowing  
> we can be
> 
> Love is free, free is love  
> Love is living, living love  
> Love is needing to be loved 
> 
> John Lennon ~ Love  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GmVajkqLNU

He’s moving through the darkened apartment, still, stealth-like, fast as a panther, heeding the scent in the air that he recognizes immediately as _her -_  his body, his mind, his heart responding to it on the most basic level, a surge of joy, excitement, _love_... He finds himself _in love_ , like a 55 year old teenager, so thrilled to be so close to seeing her, so thankful that he had had her here, feeling her traces everywhere, the yearning for her making his heart ache – the more the closer he is to her...

He finally enters the bathroom and reaches for the light switch, when he’s stopped in his tracks by the slightest movement, almost unperceivable, a breath behind his back. – He turns around abruptly, a fight or flight instinct immediately kicking in – instantly replaced by a surge of immense joy, a tidal wave of absolute happiness, the purest form of love and care, at the sight of the tiny form in his bed, all tangled up in sheets and shadows of the night, the steady breathing the only sign of it being alive, soft and shallow, the rise and fall of the duvet over her chest.

His heart stops – skips a beat – and picks up at a race rate, sending hot blood throughout his veins. He takes a deep breath in a vain attempt to still it.

 _She’s here, she’s really here,_ his mind, his heart, his body keeps chanting, _I can finally touch her, feel her, her hair, her skin, her lips... I can kiss her lips..._

He’s standing right above her now, taking her all in, the sight of her angelic face aglow in the sparse light reminding him again of their last night together and the ever present soundtrack in his head -

_You in the moonlight_

_With your sleepy eyes_

_Could you ever love a man like me_

_And you were right_

_When I walked into your house_

_I knew I'd never want to leave..._

While his mind flashes to the way she felt in his arms when he moved in her, making him want her so badly again...

How can it be that he could have gone months, years without seeing her – and now he can’t be in the same room with her and _not touch her_...

_Sometimes I'm a strong man_

_Sometimes cold and scared_

_And sometimes I cry_

_B_ _ut that time I saw you I knew with you to light my nights_

_Somehow I'd get by..._

She’s lying on _her_ side of the bed (just the thought of it makes him happy in ways he didn’t know existed), on her back, mostly under the covers, with just one of her legs sticking out, her arms thrown above her head in a child-like gesture, like she’s surrendering to him – completely helpless, innocent and at his mercy, like she’s there for the taking...

He has to _will_ himself to keep breathing as his mind tries to process this, to catalogue away the days that have passed between them, their conversations, the shared silence, the dreams, _this_...

_Her in the moonlight with her sleepy eyes..._

He’s debating what to do, his care for her and his reason telling him to let her sleep and get her much needed rest, fighting his desire to pull her in his arms and kiss her breathless, make her open those beautiful eyes just so he can see them, see himself in them and the love she has for him, the light from within, her very soul...

In the end he decides to lean in to plant a light kiss on the top of her head. Innocent. Chaste. And yet – just the contact of his lips with her skin makes him crave so much more... She doesn’t flinch or stir, there is just a small moaning sound that escapes her lips – and that sound alone could be his undoing, he thinks.

He’s swift to get undressed, pulling his shirt over his head with one hand while already unbuttoning his pants and kicking off his shoes, climbing in the bed next to her, inching closer, finally wrapping his arms around her after what has been just a little bit over two weeks, but feels like forever to him, his fingers finding their way under the thin layer of cotton she’s wearing, his eyes finally getting adjusted to the lack of light and recognizing his shirt...

He can feel the smile creep up into his face as his heart swells with the realization that she _did_ miss him after all, though she would never admit to it. She whimpers slightly from her sleep, like a dreaming child, and he’s wondering if she thinks that she _is_ dreaming this... dreaming him... And if she had dreamt of him at all while he was gone...

It’s at that very moment that she turns around in his arms to touch him, her hands immediately going to his face, reading it like Braille, with her eyes still closed, her fingers recognizing the memorized features, while she dreamily whispers his name and it registers with every single cell of his body – suddenly awake and so _alive_.

 _This_ is what he missed the most – the feeling of her warm skin against his and the sound of his name on her lips.

He can’t wait any longer. He presses his lips on hers, gently but hungrily closing over them, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. It is then when she finally opens her eyes, the recognition of her dream actually being a reality written all over them – sparkling through the shadowlight of the early morning creeping in.

“ _David_ ,” she whispers against his lips, his name hot and sweet on them, the sexiest thing ever. He breathes her name back into her mouth, over and over, the name that he’d repeated to himself like a mantra through his lonely nights, the name that has somehow become _every third thought_ of his... 

They kiss deeply and soundly, making up for all the lost time...

 _“Their tongues move over each other so fast and deep, as if having given up on words to express the intensity of their feeling... There is too much to tell and nothing to say.”_ [BFD/Doublemint Man]

They finally pause. To catch their breath. To take their time with each other, getting reacquainted with each other’s body, kissing and tasting each other’s skin, slowly, reverently, stopping every once in a while to take in the changes. It has been over two weeks – and it’s amazing what two weeks can do to a human body when put through enough stress – physically and mentally.

She runs her hands over his stomach and can feel every single muscle tense up under her fingers, taut and defined. Sliding down boldly, she feels the tendons attached to his hip bones, then moves her hands back up, her fingertips catching on his ribcage. He could easily have lost close to twenty pounds in two weeks. She can’t remember him being so petit and she feels like pulling him even closer to her than he already is, in order to protect him. – _Thank goodness that his arms haven’t changed a bit_ , she thinks as he tightens his strong hold on her and she purrs contentedly into his chest, feeling the muscles ripple around her like a current.

She, already tiny, is almost literally vanishing before his eyes now, every bone of her face sharply defined, the hollow of her throat arching up to him between two straight lines of delicate collar bones, her whole frame so fragile – and yet – her arms and her legs are shockingly strong and when she locks her ankles behind his back and pushes him deeper into her, it feels like the ultimate embrace, a connection there is no escape from. And nobody wishes to escape...

 

***


	38. ***

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like a stormy sea  
> You're natural  
> Poetry to me
> 
> Chrissie Hynde ~ 977

_Hold me_

she whispers

like a prayer from her sleep

and her words quiver in the air

like a dragonfly

hovering over the stream

wet wings glimmering in the sun

until he catches them

ever so gently

careful not to break them

not to crush her soul...

 

He envelops her

in the stillness of the night

the darkness of his arms

and she finds home on his chest again.

　

He whispers her name

as he enters her

slowly and tenderly

as if this is their first time

and in a way it is -

every time.

　

He stills

Holding her gaze

as her eyes bore into his

deep, piercing blue

and almost innocent -

almost.

　

They breathe each other in

their breaths soft and shallow

a whisper of butterfly wings

each flutter sprinkling startdust

on the flushed vastland of their skin -

a touch of eternity

in a passing moment.

　

Then

as the glitter settles

her look slides

to his lips

catching the quiver and the pulse

a slight shift of light

in the intensity of her eyes

as her teeth flash briefly

under the flick of her tongue

　

Then

her eyes back on his

aglow with the fire

burning from deep within

　

Then

his lips on hers

fierce, hot - and yet

as soft as ever

as he begins to move in her

languidly

deliberately

in perfect control

of every stroke

in sync

with the motions of their tongues...

　

And she is falling

falling slowly

even as he holds her

ever so close to his heart

while the feathered flutter

of her own

is beating wildly against her chest

and against his -

　

He can feel her smile

spill warmth all over

his own lips

before she throws her head back

and her giggles bubble up

rippling through

both of their bodies

like a wild stream

a current

of the current

fall.

　

　

　


	39. Beautiful Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I’ve never felt entirely comfortable as a stereotypical man. I was a successful male figure in that I was respected by boys because I was athletic, I was big enough, I wasn’t beat-up on. But I never felt totally comfortable with that. I was never macho. I never wanted to hunt or box or kill… I’m not talking in terms of sex at all, I’m talking about the roles that are given to us and how we fit in. You would look at me and think I was the most macho of guys, the captain of all the sports teams I ever played on, yet I never felt that way."  
> ~David Duchovny, Playboy 1998
> 
> “I have a tendency, I think, to have longer lasting relationships with men who are in touch with their feminine side.”  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, Harper’s Bazaar UK Oct 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've got the best of both worlds  
> You're the kind of girl who can take down a man,  
> And lift him back up again  
> You are strong but you're needy,  
> Humble but you're greedy  
> And based on your body language,  
> And shoddy cursive I've been reading
> 
> Your style is quite selective,  
> Though your mind is rather reckless  
> Well, I guess it just suggests  
> That this is just what happiness is
> 
> And what a beautiful mess this is  
> And it's like we're picking up trash in dresses
> 
> Well, it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write  
> Kind of turn themselves into knives  
> And don't mind my nerve you could call it fiction  
> But I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear  
> 'Cause here we are, here we are
> 
> Although you were biased I love your advice  
> Your comebacks ‒ they're quick  
> And probably have to do with your insecurities  
> There's no shame in being crazy,  
> Depending on how you take these  
> Words I'm paraphrasing this relationship we're staging
> 
> We're still here  
> What a beautiful mess this is  
> It's like taking a guess when the only answer is "Yes"
> 
> And through timeless words and priceless pictures  
> We'll fly like birds not of this earth
> 
> And tides ‒ they turn ‒ and hearts disfigure  
> But that's no concern when we're wounded together
> 
> And we tore our dresses and stained our shirts  
> But it's nice today. Oh, the wait was so worth it. 
> 
> Jason Mraz ~ Beautiful Mess  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65PlARKkMvs

In restless sleep, he can feel her rising above him, her wings spreading wide over his chest, her lips burning on his skin.

He stirs beneath her, skin gliding on skin, silk on velour. Catching breaths. Throbbing flesh. The ever-present hunger. Keeping him up all night.

She moans quietly, making him shiver in response as her arms wrap tightly around him, shocking him once again with their strength…

He won’t open his eyes, not just yet, taking his time to let his hands roam all over her body, remembering her by touch.

The dip of her spine, her cross, the swell of her hips. The softness and sweetness. The wetness between her thighs…

She still hasn’t moved and he wouldn’t dare explore any further without her permission, it’s something embedded deeply within, but the temptation is strong and he can hear the blood rushing through his temples as his heart picks up speed and his penis volume…

And once again he’s faced with the same question: how do you miss so much someone who’s right there with you....? How do you _ache_ so much...? The way he is – all over...

He can’t help involuntarily pushing himself into her hip to ease some of the pressure and he smiles when he feels her wiggle against him, pulling his hand closer to her mouth...

She's stirring herself awake, slowly gaining consciousness, smiling from her dream, reaching for his lips and he gladly obliges, his hands instantly coming alive on her skin again and she lets her thighs come apart for him... and then...

All of a sudden she’s up, leaping out of the bed and making a mad dash for the bathroom, leaving him behind, stunned, stricken, confused.

\---

She’s standing in front of the full length mirror in his bathroom, taking deep calming breaths through the hard thumps of her heart, examining her looks, suddenly shocked, seeing for the first time the changes that must have occurred seemingly unnoticed or that she had forgotten all about while he so effectively covered them all in the palms of his large hands, smoothed them out with his long sensitive fingers or simply kissed them away...

A shattering sigh leaves her mouth, coming all the way from the depths of her soul:

“ _F*ck..._ ”

\- just at the very moment when her reflection in the mirror gets overshadowed by his towering presence behind her, her hips instantly tingling by his touch as his hands slide around her waist and his lips glide over her neck, making her skin break into goose-bumps as she feels his erection pressed into the small of her back.

She tries to make a move to get out of his tight embrace, suddenly embarrassed, as if he’d never seen her drunk out of her mind or puking before... But this is different. This is raw and primal and so incredibly _intimate_...

She’s completely naked in her reflection and no matter how hard she tries, there’s no way to ignore the warm trickle running down her thigh and the implications of it... any more than she can hide it from him.

He’s too close, it’s too personal, and he's suddenly suffocating her with his presence, his care, his sticky hands on her abdomen...

She tries to wiggle her way out of his grip and as she does so, her eyes catch the bright red smear on her stomach left by his fingers.

He brings them to his face, just staring at them, speechless – and she just wants to die...

\---

Silence.

Silence so unbearable, interrupted only by their heartbeat and their held breath....

The silence that holds everything that’s been left unsaid between them, the hurt of the past and all of the unspoken possibilities of the future... The thought so scary she doesn’t even know where to start... She wants to run and hide, she wants to make this go away somehow, she wants to curl into him and cry, she wants... she doesn’t even _know_ what the hell she wants anymore...

But she forces herself to look into his eyes and see the way he’s looking at her – with a mixture of confusion, hurt and love – and she allows herself to let the love take over, because right now she cannot possibly have it any other way.

She needs him to understand.

She needs him. Period.

_Ha._

So it has come to this – 22 years since their first “heart to heart”, this situation quite on reverse – and yet it feels as if nothing has changed. Why is it still so f*cking hard to just talk to each other...

And then he remembers. He remembers her face, her bloodshot, haunted eyes and the quiver of her lip on the day she told him – and it is like being caught in a time-loop, looking into the same face, changed by time and yet the same...

And just like then, he lifts his hand (the clean one, resting the bloody one on her hip where it’s been before), gently tracing her jaw and tipping her chin up to make her look at him, to tell her... _To tell her what?_

“ _Hey_ ,” he says so softly that she can barely hear him, but she can see his lips move and finds herself hanging on them like on a life-line...

“ _Are you OK?_ ”

Not very inventive, but he can’t honestly think of anything else.

She shakes her head, averting her eyes.

“ _Yeah, I’m fine_ ,” is her firm response and it almost _(almost)_ makes him chuckle, as it is such a _Scully_ line and his surreal feeling of being back in 1994 only intensifies. Except that this time everything is backwards. Back then she came to him, because she wanted to talk to him. To tell him she was pregnant. Now he’s come after her and it’s clear that she really doesn’t want to talk about it – whatever it this...

And what _is_ there to talk about, really? This is a perfectly natural process, right? It happens every month and he just never had the privilege to be around for it, is all. Right?

But there’s still the nagging thought that won’t let him keep quiet.

He grabs a bunch of tissues off the counter to try and wipe his hands clean, then reaches between them and runs the cotton along the length of her thigh. Immediately it turns scarlet and his heart starts pounding against his will. There’s something so primal about this and it scares the f*ck out of him. 

She’s quiet and that’s not helping either. For as much as they suck at words, her silence is never a good sign. So they are pretty much f*cked.

“ _Come on, just talk to me, what is it?_ ” he urges, but she rushes to interrupt him.

“ _It’s nothing, really_ ,” she snaps as she snatches the bloody cloth away from him.

 _Don’t think, don’t think_ , she keeps telling herself frantically, _don’t think of what this could or should or **might** be. It’s **nothing**._

Her eyes are hard on his now, warning him to stay away. But also daring him to. And he won’t budge.

“ _But this means_ ,” he waves his hand towards her center where another trickle of blood starts to make its way down her thigh and she’s trying hard to just ignore it. This is ridiculous and she has no idea why she’s still standing here instead of just telling him to leave her the f*ck alone and taking a nice hot shower that might make all this go away... And yet...

“ _Does this mean that..._ ”

 _Damnit._ Why is this so f*cking hard? Why can’t they just talk like two normal adults? They sure acted that way not so long ago... But at that time none of this had even crossed his mind... How ignorant can he really be...?

“ _Does this mean that you could... that you **can** conceive?_ ” he finally blurts out and immediately regrets it when a stricken look crosses her face, before she brings her hands up to cover it and looks like she’s going to cry...

 _Shit. Well done,_ he chastises himself, but finally pulls himself together enough to reach out to remove those hands, gently but with unrelenting force.

“ _Come on_ ,” he pleads now, “ _just look at me..._ ”

And she does. And she _is_ crying. She’s feeling ashamed, humiliated and she can’t even figure out why... Because there really _is nothing wrong_ about this, there’s _nothing wrong with her..._ And yet. At 47, she has still not gotten used to this. The feeling of _loss_ whenever the time comes for her menstrual blood to leave her body, every month or so – or every couple of months as it has been lately. The longer, less pronounced periods made it easy to just push it aside, but then again the loss hits with the same force – like when she lost her second baby... and her third...

Of course she never told him... Why should she. Even if there had been a chance that he could have been the father, what would be the point of making him hurt as much as she did... So she just pushed it all aside. She’s so damn good at that. And now that they _are_ finally talking, it’s very clear that there _is no_ child to be concerned about and it suddenly breaks her heart.

So she snaps. Her eyes sliding down to her thighs glistening with fresh blood, she raises her voice unnecessarily and it echoes off the walls of the small bathroom, splintering through the silence like shrapnel.

“ _Well clearly you don’t have to be concerned about that now._ ”

And without looking at him anymore, because she knows that she wouldn’t be able to take the hurt in his eyes, not again, she disappears in the shower...

\---

Minutes later, long moments filled with shattering sobs fading into dreadful silence, he finally can't take it anymore and gets up to check on her, just when the bathroom door opens and she comes out, wrapped in one of his big fluffy towels, water dripping from her long wet hair, her face blank and her eyes hollow. He opens his arms like he had 22 years ago and she numbly walks into his embrace.

" _But I **do** want to be concerned,_ " he whispers in her ear, pulling her tightly against him as she whispers back:

" _Don't let go..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just trying something different here... exploring all levels of intimacy...  
> It's been a challenge and I hope it's not offensive...  
> Relationships are messy in all different ways...


	40. Love Me From The Heart Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- I think this is gonna work.  
> \- Yeah? Why is that?  
> \- Because on an intimacy scale... having somebody watch me brush my teeth... is right up there with seeing me on a Sazerac swing... and I'm not minding it.  
> ~ Meredith, Playing by Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We  
> Watch each other even when we sleep  
> For some small protection  
> It's a promise we keep
> 
> Love  
> Is hard to define  
> It runs in circles round the mind  
> But a circle  
> Ain't a circle  
> If it's not complete
> 
> Oh  
> Love me from the heart down  
> If it hurts or if it's bliss  
> Love me from the heart down  
> Reveal me with a kiss  
> My senses must compete with a brain that lets me down  
> Down down
> 
> We  
> Satisfy each other but the hunger still remains  
> You sink into my flesh  
> Like a knife  
> When day comes to an end  
> We take off all our clothes  
> And stand naked  
> Face to face  
> With real life
> 
> Oh  
> Love me from the heart down  
> Get me on the floor  
> Love me from the heart down  
> Go under and then come back for more  
> Analytical pattern  
> Gives love the run around  
> Around  
> You can't hold a theory  
> Won't you love me  
> Love me from the heart down
> 
> We  
> Misconstrue intentions  
> When there's distance in between  
> Longing hurts the teeth  
> Like something sweet  
> When  
> You're not here with me  
> You become a memory  
> Thick aching feels like some kind  
> Of defeat
> 
> Oh  
> Love me from the heart down  
> Get me on the phone  
> Love me from the heart down  
> Lie and say you're  
> Coming home  
> True confessions need the make-up  
> Of a clown  
> Smiles are deceiving  
> Won't you love me  
> Love me from the heart down
> 
> Chrissie Hynde ~ Love Me From The Heart Down  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rdM6zWJ57Pw

Still holding tight, he walks them back to the couch, where she just slumps into his arms, letting her head rest on his shoulder and her hand on his chest.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she says sadly and sweetly and his heart breaks along with her little voice.

He’s stroking her wet hair, smoothing it out with his big warm palm, breathing in her scent that, despite the pain associated with it, makes him feel at home.

“ _For what?”_ he asks while softly brushing his lips on her temples and the outline of her ear.

 _“For saying that,”_ she answers simply, “ _for holding me now.”_

 _“I **meant** it, too_.” His voice is firm, just like his embrace, his arms instinctively tightening around her. Then softens: “ _You know that, right?”_

She nods into his chest and sniffles, trying to hide her face, but he’s already taking her head in his hands, bending down to look into her eyes and repeating his question:

“ _You **do**?_ ”

“ _I **do**_ ,” she nods with a look so solemn that it’s almost like a vow.

\---

She fell quiet a while ago, becoming limp in his arms as he eased her onto the couch beside him, spooning behind her and holding her close to his heart. He watched her for the longest time, just nuzzling her face with his nose and wishing that he could take all those years and all the pain away and just love her – with that first burning passion of the years passed... and with the calm, quiet love he feels for her right now...

He can’t help but kiss her neck, grazing her collarbone, scraping his teeth on the soft skin of her shoulder. He keeps checking her face for any signs of discomfort or disapproval, for a sign for him to stop, but it is calm and peaceful, like she hasn’t looked in days, and when she turns around in her half-sleep and wiggles closer to him, he musters enough courage to slide his hand into the opening of her robe, cupping one of her breasts tentatively, tracing its outline with his fingers. She stirs and lets out a moan that is neither stifled nor forced, just a deep sensual breath leaving her mouth freely as her head drops back and her tongue slips out to wet her lips, chapped with sleep and reddened with desire stirring in the pit of her stomach and pumping blood through her veins. He leans in to kiss them, ever so softly, letting his tongue glide over them and they part for him, welcoming him with ease. His hand has now found her stomach, flattening out against it, his long fingers easily spanning it, rubbing gently, to soothe, not arouse, but her moans intensify and when she finally opens her eyes, they’re burning ambers on bright blue crystals of ice, and _everything about her says yes, including her toes_.

“ _Is this good?_ ” he whispers in her mouth, determined to keep the lines of communication open this time and starting at the most basic level.

“ _Mmmmhmmm_ ,” she murmurs back, her tongue lashing out against his unapologetically and with violent fervour. He really had the best intentions to keep this sweet and chaste, but _goddamnit –_ her skin is burning under his trembling fingers and she urges him on with all of her being – her lips so demanding on his, her hip bucking against his hand, her fingers in his hair and... She reaches between them to untie her robe, her milky breasts spilling out into his waiting hands that had just reluctantly left her stomach with a tingling feeling of loss...

Once again he captures her eyes as he contemplates the weight of her breasts in his palms before looking down at them, wondering if they really did get fuller, or if it's just his love-sick mind playing tricks on him with the new information still whirling in the thick air between them like fresh snowfall.

Searching her face, he’s wondering if she’s guessed what he was thinking, like she had so many times, but her eyes are hooded with more than fatigue, there’s raw desire in them when she opens them just enough to look into his, before bringing his face to hers for another passionate kiss and breathing out:

“ _Kiss me... kiss me **everywhere**..._ ”

He doesn’t waste a second hesitating, his lips already making their way down the alabaster column of her neck and the sweetly freckled chest, stopping to kiss all of them at once, before taking one of her nipples in his mouth and sucking tenderly, still always checking with her for the right amount of pressure, assuming that they must be really sensitive right now...

She bites her lower lip to prevent herself from crying out loud and he stops abruptly, immediately licking and soothing the sore spot. But her eyes fly open and she does let out the cry after all, one of loss and longing and arousal and it is the most sensual sound he’s ever heard, making his penis twitch and roll in his jeans.

“ _Don't stop,"_  she manages to get out between shallow breaths, " _it's alright..."_ and he’s thinking _It’d better be_ , because he can’t help himself anymore, squeezing her nipples now, just to make her make that sound again, while he kisses his way down to the slight swell of her belly, her snowy white skin beautiful as sin, and as he does so, he can smell her – her scent so primal and intoxicating, and for a moment he feels embarrassed by feeling _so_ turned on by it...

And then he curses the damn prejudiced inhibitions planted in us by society in the name of religion, culture or manners, in the name of G*d and our parents and teachers, the age-old fear of the most natural things – death; blood; birth; sex....

Her sex is glistening and opening up to him and he wants to taste her so badly, the idea of a coppery hint to the usual sweetness of hers plastered on his brain now, making his head spin. But he is not really sure how to go about this, suddenly so insecure and taken aback by the fact that even at 55 there are still things that are new to him, because now they suddenly matter so much more than they ever had before.

He flicks his thumb over her clitoris and her soft moans intensify instantly, shuddering through his body and making him painfully hard. He ignores it as best as he can and places a soft kiss right on her center before climbing back up to kiss her sweetly, letting her taste herself on his lips.

It’s so shockingly erotic that she can feel herself getting even wetter than she already was, and it’s just about to get even more intense when he runs his tongue along the outline of her ear and then practically breathes in:

“ _I want you so badly right now._ ”

And she’s thinking, not for the first time, that _this_ alone could make her come undone. She lets out a deep sigh.

“ _Just give me a second_.”

And she’s already wiggling her way out of his strong arms and plopping to the bathroom on bare unsteady feet.

\---

When she emerges a couple of minutes later, she’s wearing nothing but her disarming smile, her hands nervously fluttering about the almost perfect contours of her slim body, but her legs perfectly steady as she walks up to him like a panther, easing herself onto his lap and looking him straight in the eye when she whispers:

“ _Take me, please._ ”

 


	41. I Remember You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is something that is unique about our relationship and I think it is beyond us.” ~ Gillian Anderson, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember you  
> I remember the first time we met  
> I may be a sentimental fool  
> Forever in your debt  
> For something I cannae forget  
> I remember you
> 
> I remember the first time we spoke  
> The sound of your voice like a lover's tongue  
> Got in my ear when I'd just begun  
> To wonder if springtime was through  
> I remember you
> 
> How do we change so easily?  
> You'll always be a part of me  
> I thought you'd never go  
> It shows you what I know
> 
> I remember the first time we slept  
> What a surprise to wake up to  
> Someone I hardly knew  
> From a sleep to a dream come true  
> I remember you
> 
> The Pretenders ~ I Remember You  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YVgWPNR5Res

His eyes are wide with awe and lust, his expression full of amazement and heavy with desire for this remarkable woman that had just fallen apart in front of him, but had enough courage to pick up the pieces and pull herself back together, the way she always does, because there is no easy way out...

And now she’s standing before him, exposed, naked to the bone, revealing every little truth between them, undisguised, untainted...

What _is_ tainted is the leg of his jeans and she bites her lip and gives him a timid, almost apologetic look, but the corner of her mouth twitches mischievously with a “ _you asked for this_ ” kind of smile and he’s thankful for that. Anything but more tears.

Those are inevitable though, because what’s happening between them just now is so deeply moving and reminiscent of all the missed chances of the past that he can feel his own eyes well up with emotion. There are no apologies needed. What he needs is to strip and discard his jeans and pull out some more towels to safety-proof the playground before he can finally scoop her up and carry her to the bedroom, a cliché and yet the most obvious thing to do...

She doesn’t protest, just wraps her arms around him and it only takes a couple of his long steps for him to cross the room and the hall and lay her down on the now stripped bed before stepping back to take a moment to admire her beauty, to _touch her perfect body with his mind._

She moves back against the headboard, slightly parting her legs and revealing her glistening center while doing so, and he does his best to maintain eye-contact as he approaches her, putting one knee on the bed and helping her move back for him, his hardened penis brushing against the soft skin of her abdomen, charging the air with a new jolt of lust.

She shivers all over, but braces herself on one elbow, reaching her other hand to his face, tracing his sharp jaw-line with the backs of her baby fingers, then grabbing his chin and pulling him in for a passionate kiss, grazing his lips with her teeth before letting him slide down her body to explore, like she knows he will...

He's baffled by the fact that she let him this close, it’s a groundbreaking shift after all the years of circling around each other in denial and self-defense, and he’s treading lightly on the uncharted territory of her body, of their intimacy, of yet another “ _first_ ” of the rest of their lives. The first time with all of its ominous weight as he kisses his way down her stomach and the insides of her thighs, his lips stained with her, _all of her_ – and it’s the most intimate, most sensual, most erotic thing he had ever experienced. No woman had ever let him this close, not ever.

He nudges her folds open, closing his mouth over her clit, his eyes never leaving hers, though they are closed now, her head thrown back, her hips arching towards him slightly, the muscles of her stomach trembling in anticipation, echoing her words from before – _take me, please_ , a desperate plea that he will never be able to erase from his mind as long as he lives, as her tiny hands clutch the towels beneath them and her lips move in quiet moans, until one of them finally forms a word:

“ ** _Now._** ”

There’s an awkward pause when he stops moving and searches her face, but she won’t open her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering in sync with her rapid heartbeats, painting butterfly shadows on her flushed and freckled cheeks. He swallows hard, unable to keep himself in check for much longer, and then more words tumble off her tongue, spilling on the cool sheets and bouncing off their heated skin and he strings them together like beads:

“ _In... me... now..._ ”

And by G*d he’s more than ready, but there is one thing left to do...

“ _Open your eyes_ ,” he orders, his voice as hard and unwavering as his erection pressing into her, though everything inside him is soft and liquefied.

And strangely enough, she does obey. She opens her eyes – and they are _beautiful_ – wet and sparkling like silver moon on the deep blue of the sea _._ Her cheeks are flushed, reddened by the sudden surge of blood and heat and raw from the rub of his stubble, her freckles popping up everywhere, and he wants to kiss her breathless and f*ck her out of her mind – and his...

He watches her intently as she watches him guide himself inside her – and it may be the first time she’s actually done that – kept her eyes open. The first time they’ve taken the bond to yet another level – their eyes interlocked as he enters her _and the river unleashes and swallows them whole_...

\---

And then he remembers – as he slides easily through the unique wetness and warmth of hers, watching her fresh blood pool where their bodies are joined, he remembers with the clarity and the force of a flashback the day he'd watched his daughter being born – a surge of life and joy through the anguish and blood... and immediately he tries to push aside the image of his wife holding their baby girl for the first time, while he was wiping the sweat off her face with trembling fingers, afraid to touch the tiny human in her arms... and then, as soon as he did, getting instantly attached to her for life... It was such a magical moment that only repeated once, three years later with Kyd, and by that time he was a pro, much more self-assured, his hands perfectly steady as he cut the umbilical cord and was the first to hold his son. He will never forget the expression in his wife’s face – one of astonished pride and utter happiness outshining the exhaustion and pain – and just how proud he was of her, how thankful for the two most beautiful gifts she could ever give him...

\---

_F*ck..._

Her eyes flutter open as she senses him falter, his movements getting erratic as his mind travels miles away... She tries to read his expression, but he’s closed up to her and she reaches a gentle hand to touch his face and bring it down to hers, kissing him with such surprising sweetness that the tears that had been threatening ever since she had left him behind this morning suddenly overflow and trickle down his cheeks and he lets them, heaving deep sobs as she pulls his head in the crook of her neck and shushes him like a baby...

“ _Shhhhh, it’s alright_ ,” she whispers in his ear, not having a clue what is going on, but her maternal instinct telling her what to do...

“ _It’s alright_ ,” she urges softly, “ _just let it go... let it all go and come to me..._ ”

When he doesn’t respond, she yanks at his hair lightly to pull him back and make him look into her eyes: “ _Can you do it... for me?_ ” she purrs and he has to smile through his tears, because she’s repeating to him his own words that he had told her not so long ago... and then he _is_ coming, with one last shattering thrust inside her as she clutches at him with everything she has, her inner walls constricting, her heels crossed over his cross digging deep into his skin, her hands woven in his hair, pulling him as close as humanly possible – and then, with a sigh and a whisper, she follows, falling slowly into his open soul...

\---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC. Clearly.


	42. Wild Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think that we know each other better than we know our spouses – at any time that we might have had spouses...” ~ Gillian Anderson, 2012
> 
> “I’d spent more time with Gillian than anybody in my whole life...”  
> “I appreciate her more than ever... all the time.” ~ David Duchovny, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Childhood living is easy to do  
> The things you wanted I bought them for you  
> Graceless lady you know who I am  
> You know I can't let you slide through my hands  
> Wild horses couldn't drag me away  
> Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away
> 
> I watched you suffer a dull aching pain  
> Now you decided to show me the same  
> No sweeping exits or offstage lines  
> Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind  
> Wild horses couldn't drag me away  
> Wild, wild horses, couldn't drag me away
> 
> I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie  
> I have my freedom but I don't have much time  
> Faith has been broken, tears must be cried  
> Let's do some living after we die  
> Wild horses couldn't drag me away  
> Wild, wild horses, we'll ride them some day...
> 
> The Rolling Stones ~ Wild Horses  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhVLiHPUOIM

She’s quiet for the longest time, just listening to his hitching breath as his sobs subside, soaking into the softness of her skin, his head resting on her chest, his hands numbly stroking the sides of her body... She’s not quite sure what has just happened, but it was beautiful – beautiful and haunting... and there are words rushing to the surface of her soul, but she’s waiting for him to come back to her.

He finally dares to lift his face and look into her eyes, his cheeks wet with streaks of tears and she kisses them away, her hands still buried in his hair.

“ _What is it?_ ” she whispers so gently, her voice thick with concern and plushy with care.

He absentmindedly runs his fingers along the slightly pronounced scar on her lower abdomen and though he’s not aware of it, it triggers that intense surge of emotion once again.

“ _You have no idea_ ,” he says – and he’s right. She does not. But oh how she wishes to know what’s going on in that beautiful mind of his. She wants to take all of him in, she wants him with her at all times... _Always_.

She lays her hand gently over his and he kisses her fingers, one by one.

“ _I just wanted..._ ” he starts and trails off, then starts again, “ _I wanted..._ ” he stutters, the scar burning under his fingers, “ _I wish... I wish I had been there with you... I wanted to..._ ”

“ _What?_ ”

She’s curious now, wondering what made him so emotional, so vulnerable, though she knows that he’s always been that way, he just wouldn’t let it show. He has now – and suddenly she’s not quite sure how to handle it all. It’s been so long and she got used to things being the way they were. But something has changed. Inevitably and irrevocably changed. She knows now with the certainly of the past 20 years that she loves him. She always has... but it’s different now. She’s not just _in_ love with him. She truly loves him. For who he is. For who he has become. For her. To her. With her.

“ _The scar..._ ” he finally breathes, his voice and touch feather-light, but determined.

Her eyes widen. She doesn’t even think about it anymore... Most of the time. Unless, of course, somebody brings it up. And strangely enough, nobody ever does. Nobody has ever been this close though. She stills completely, thinking about her answer...

“ _Yeah...?_ ” she says then, trying to sound as neutral as possible, but her held breath and her racing heart betray her.

“ _Does it hurt?_ ”

 _What a stupid question_ , he thinks immediately, but she’s graceful about it, she always is.

“ _Physically..._ ” she hesitates, then states a definite “ _no_.” She doesn’t elaborate on that one. Instead, she covers his hand with hers to still it, then searches his eyes for the real question. He’s quiet. The pensive, heavy kind of quiet she’s come to know in him over the years. The calm-before-the-storm kind of quiet. All-of-the-untold-truths kind of quiet. The I’ve-held-on-to-this-one-for-twenty-years kind of quiet. The quiet worth a thousand words.

He leans in to kiss her, softly at first, then deeply, meaningfully.

“ _What did you want, David?_ ” she repeats, their fingers and breaths intertwined, her heart beating wildly against his, their faces touching and the blood rushing between them.

“ _I just wish I had been with you then,_ ” he says simply, capturing first her eyes and then her lips. “ _I guess I always have..._ ” He ponders his words for a while and the absurdity of the fact that it took them over 20 years to come to this point... 14 since the last time... the _scar_... “ _But especially then,”_ he adds and there’s an edge of guilt in his tone. _How did he not even know about this.... where was he, what was going on in their lives back then?_

 _Nothing_ , that’s what was going on. One day she was there, curled up in his arms for one last time and the world seemed to be right for once. - The next day she was gone. Aboard a plane heading to London, to her new life. And he was too wrapped up in being a new father to even notice. How much she had struggled. How much she had missed him. How much she wouldn’t let on... And how big a hole was left in his life after she was gone. How did he not know... How long did it take him to notice how much he missed her? To come to terms with her absence in his life. For an indefinite period of time. For good, maybe. But not for better.

“ _You did?_ ” Her voice is small, running the thin line between hope and tears.

“ _Yes, I always have, I think... I just didn’t know it then..._ ” He pauses, running his fingers along her lips, her face, pulling her closer. “ _Does it make any sense?_ ”

The blood between them keeps flowing and neither one of them really cares anymore.

“ _It does_ ,” she nods empathetically, “ _it makes perfect sense, actually. We were just too much together. And we needed a break. Or that’s what we thought. I get it now. I don’t think there was any other way around it. We just didn’t know that it would take this long. We were past being reasonable. Past the ability to just talk it through. And G*d knows I tried... But then I always got to a point where..._ ”

Her voice finally breaks and she tries to avert her eyes, but he holds her face still in both of his hands and kisses her 20 years deep.

“ _I know,_ ” he whispers against her lips. “ _I know. I thought I could be without you, that I’ve learnt how to be without you over the years, but the truth is, I can’t. I don’t want to, damnit._ ”

And then, with his eyes soft and his voice just above a whisper:

“ _How badly did I hurt you?_ ”

She shakes her head absentmindedly, her hands stroking his arms and her voice soothing his mind.

“ _Not more than I had hurt you,_ ” she says with her disarming honesty and he’s thinking that he’s never loved her more than he does just now.

“ _It was a crazy time. I didn’t believe you loved me... I mean... you **could** not, **must** not have loved me... so..._” she shrugs her shoulders. What is there to say. It’s over now. It’s been so long...

He nods in accord and when he speaks up, there’s a strange gravity in his voice that makes her heart stop. Always has. “ _I think I was just afraid,_ ” he says and he seems to be scared sh*tless, still, “ _I was so scared and confused and I just couldn’t figure it all out...”_

 _“I know,”_ she says quietly, and there’s not a hint of accusation or hurt or regret in her voice. It’s clear and maybe a little nostalgic, but that’s it. “ _It’s been so long... and I was so young...”_ That was ages ago. She was 25 and she wasn’t even grown into her own body, what did she know of life? Or love. “ _I didn’t know what I wanted. There was no way you could have given it to me._ ” But it’s never too late, is it? Not if you just don’t give up.

“ _I wish..._ ” he sighs in her hair, his breath gently stroking her face and making her feel safe, “ _I wish there was a way I could make it up to you..._ ”

“ _You have_ ,” she assures him sincerely, “ _you **are**..._ ”

“ _I want to make it right._ ”

“ _Then hold me,_ ” she insists, “ _hold me and don’t let go._ ”

He smiles, for the first time, then hums in her ear:

“ _Wild horses...”_

And she smiles back, picking up the tune.

“ _...couldn’t drag me away.”_


	43. All My Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m frightened of ending up old, unloved and alone; I’m frightened of being an unfeeling person and not having true emotions for other people.” 
> 
> “You can’t run off to a cave and be wounded alone, and you can’t hide your pain with drugs or women.  
> You really have to deal with yourself when you’re with this person you love.”  
> ~ David Duchovny, 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my dreams  
> Still relive you  
> If this is what you left for me  
> I forgive you  
> Never do I despair  
> When I kneel to say my prayers  
> When slumber fills my head  
> I'll be visiting your bed
> 
> All my dreams  
> Recollect you  
> And so darling in a way  
> Our love remains new  
> Funny little things  
> You touch my fingers and fondle my rings  
> Then tenderly without violence  
> We make love in perfect silence
> 
> Come, come into my room again  
> Come, come again  
> Oh come, come into my gloom again  
> End this solitude again
> 
> I finally took that picture down  
> I'd been staring at it for hours and hours  
> Slipping in and out of consciousness  
> But what I can't figure out  
> Why did you do that?  
> Disappear on me like that?  
> Oh baby please come back where I can touch you  
> Right here where I can see you
> 
> Come, come into my room again  
> Come, come again  
> Oh come, come into my gloom again  
> Break, break this solitude again
> 
> All of my dreams of your affection  
> Never have I known  
> Such sweet perfection  
> No drug-induced bliss  
> Could ever reach the heights of this  
> Eternal and so pure  
> Help me to endure  
> All my dreams...
> 
> The Pretenders ~ All My Dreams  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3SM1kxoCEo

Later they are sitting at the table, dressed like normal people (each of them wearing one of his, almost identical, shirts), the pile of bloody mess soaking in the bathtub the only reminder of what’s just happened between them.

That – and the way the look in their eyes has changed. Something has shifted. His hand is resting on hers, still, like so many times before, and yet – this time it’s not with the nervous boyish giddiness that makes his fingers tremble like a bird caught in a current, nor is it the desperate possessiveness that makes his grip so firm it stops her breath. This time there’s nowhere to run and nothing to be afraid of. She’s here, with him, truly entirely here, at his place, in his world, in his life and she is _his_. Her eyes are deeply embedded in his, stuck on him like Velcro, the scarlet pout of her lips an echo of their earlier encounter, much like the veiled look on his face, some kind of new-found softness and vulnerability spreading through his limbs like warm liquid, his breathing even, finally relaxed.

 _This is it, this is it –_ his steady heartbeat measuring the only truth that matters, the truth they both know.

“ _I love being with you like this_ ,” he says then, his voice clear as a day and it’s like tearing down a dam, releasing the flood waters of twenty years as the wild turtledoves of suppressed desires locked inside their chests beat their wings wildly against their ribcage, finally breaking free and taking off with a single breath:

“ _I love you._ ”

\---

The rustle of the wings and the rush of water go quiet, but the silence between them is louder than words.

He wants to pull her in and kiss her like mad, but this moment is too precious and he wants to capture it, too, to imprint it in his mind forever.

Her little fingers tighten around his, a little promise, a vow. Then there’s that small smile to accompany it, her golden head shaking in disbelief.

“ _Wow, twenty two years, huh?_ ” she says as she gets up to walk over to his side.

“ _Twenty two years and I am more in love with you than I have ever been,”_ he confesses with touching honesty and she slides her hands inside his shirt and down his chest as she kisses his neck.

“ _I will have to go soon_ ,” she says regretfully. In fact, she should have been gone a long time ago. It’s Sunday, she’s starting early. This is not what she needs right now. Though it’s everything she needed all along.

“ _We’ll revisit this later, OK?_ ”

She leans over his shoulder to seal the promise with a kiss and with that she's gone...


	44. Little Green Apples :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She comes out smiling,  
> so beautiful that an invisible hand reaches into your ribcage  
> and twists your heart one notch counterclockwise.  
> ~ Jim Harrison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wake up in the morning  
> With my hair down in my eyes  
> And she says Hi  
> And I hurry to the breakfast table  
> While the kids are going off to school, Goodbye  
> And she reaches out and takes my hand  
> And squeezes it and says "How you feelin' Hon?"  
> And I look across at smiling lips that warm my heart  
> And I see my morning sun  
> And if that's not loving me  
> Then all I've got to say
> 
> God didn't make little green apples  
> And it don't rain in Indianapolis in the summertime  
> There's no such thing as Dr. Suess  
> Disneyland and Mother Goose, no nursery rhyme  
> God didn't make little green apples  
> And it don't rain in Indianapolis in the summertime  
> And when myself is feeling low  
> I think about your face aglow and ease my mind
> 
> Sometimes I call him up knowing he's busy  
> And ask if he could get away and meet me  
> And maybe grab a bite to eat  
> And he drops what he's doing and hurries down to meet me  
> And I'm always late  
> He sits waiting patiently and smiles when he first sees me  
> Because he's made that way  
> And if that's not loving me  
> Then all I've got to say
> 
> God didn't make little green apples  
> And it don't snow in Indianapolis when the winter comes  
> There's no such thing as make believe  
> Puppy dogs and autumn leaves, no B.B. guns  
> God didn't make little green apples  
> And it don't rain in Indianapolis in the summertime  
> And when myself is feeling low  
> I think about your face aglow and ease my mind
> 
> Robbie Williams & Kelly Clarkson ~ Little Green Apples  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ox4RVtqGpqE

The door closes behind her with a click and a sigh, but only after he’d kissed her breathless, his body still on high alert whispering to hers: _Stay with me, stay with me, stay_ – after she’d refused to let him come along... He lets his cheek rest on the cool massive of the door, savouring her taste on his lips, the ghost of her skin tingling on his like an afterthought while he wonders what he is going to do with himself for the rest of the afternoon...

It’s shocking how easy it’s been to fall for her all over again – shocking, but not disconcerting this time. There’s an almost comforting feeling of infinity about it and he likes it. He curls up on the couch for what he’s trying to convince himself would be a quick nap to recharge. Yes, he’s shot, wondering how she does it – how does she keep running on empty and yet giving _all of her_ to everything she does every time...? Of course, she _is_ 8 years younger than him, he thinks to himself by way of consolation, but she _is_ in her late forties /she’d probably kill him if he’d put it like that/ and her body had carried and birthed three children over the period of 14 years, not to mention the fact that every month _this_ happens... Just that thought alone makes his skin flush and he breathes slowly through his mouth to let the heat-flash pass...

The room is soothingly warm in the late May afternoon sun, the promise of summer and all that it stands for already palpable in the air, fragrant with possibilities. He closes his eyes and lets his mind drift – to their breakfast together, to the way her tiny hand felt in his, to the lazy smile that lit up her face and curled up under her eyelids in the slow morning pouring over them like cream in their coffee. His heart twitches a little, aching for the plain domesticity that’s been long lost to him, the exciting novelty and soothing familiarity of it. And a wide smile spreads all over his face when he recalls their earlier conversation.

“ _How’s Piper?_ ” he asked casually in way of distracting her from whatever thoughts she was wrapped up in, her eyes glazed over as she held a piece of watermelon pierced on her fork midair. Also, he missed that girl. It’s been over a year since they’d spent a long stretch of time finally getting reacquainted with each other and he grew so fond of her. They’d still text on occasion, him genuinely interested in her work, her sometimes concerned about her mum. Back then it made him feel uneasy, inadequate / _what was there that he could have done for her, anyway?_ / - but from where he’s standing now, a year later, he can see what she had probably seen in them for some time... He makes a mental note to himself that he needs to talk to her soon. To just... _hang out, you know_... And he finds himself looking very much forward to it.

“ _Oh she’s beautiful_...” her velvety voice pulls him out of his reverie and he blinks at the brightness of her beaming smile, the smile that makes him so happy. “ _She’s just so... perfect_ ,” she continues proudly, “ _perfect in every possible way_.”

She falls quiet, her fingers fondling his, her index finger running circles over the tattoo on his left ring finger.

“ _How’s Madelaine... and Miller – how old are they now?_ ” she asks then, the sound of his daughter’s full name that he so rarely uses with her sliding off her tongue like melting butter, making him feel all warm inside. It sounds the same way in her mouth as when she calls her boys’ names – a round sound rich with love. In his mind’s eye, there’s a perfect image of the seven of them – five children between the two of them, with some generous room for their other respective parents floating around on the distant horizon of their bright future. He pictures them sitting at the dining room table sharing breakfast in comfortable silence / _very unlikely/_  or lively chatter / _that’s more like it/,_ the boys alternating between squealing and arguing, the girls rolling their eyes knowingly and almost audibly. He knows for a fact that it’s something Piper has taken after her mother. As did West for that matter. That’s about as much thought as he allows himself to give it before returning to the conversation.

“ _Seventeen and thirteen, going on thirty,_ ” he spits out on a chuckle, thinking of his son’s adorable clumsiness and wicked sense of humour / _no question where he got those from/_  and his daughter’s fierceness and the heightened sense of self that she definitely gets after her mother. He wants to say it out loud.

“ _They are the best thing that’s happened to us_ ,” he says instead, stopping abruptly, a panicked look crossing his face minutely... until her eyes and then her hand assure him that it’s alright.

“ _I know_ ,” she then says matter-of-factly, easing his mind with just a breath, “ _they_ _are_.” There’s a pause filled with a strange mixture of gratitude and longing, stretching the silence between them, stretching over the years of their history.

“ _For as much as we’ve f*cked up in our lives_ ,” she then says thoughtfully, her eyes gleaming, “ _we sure got this one right, didn’t we..._ ”

He nods thankfully, feeling the lump rising in his throat, pushing tears to his eyes. Then she takes it a notch further:

“ _I saw their pictures in the hallway – they’re such a perfect combination of the two of you..._ ”

And he could just smother her with the love he feels for her right now. It’s so much more than the incredible pull between them, the crazy attraction, the hot breaths over swollen flesh and stolen glances, sneaky hands and feet under countless conference tables across the country and a few guilt trips down the memory lane. This is so much more than the way her little hand feels in his right now, the way her tongue felt in his mouth moments before, the way his ache for her flared up on her skin and burnt down deep within her earlier this morning... This is how deep their connection runs – deeper than the ink of all of their tattoos combined, the deep blue of her eyes in his mossy green, the depth of the wounds they gave each other.

He wants to replace that past with bright future – waking up tangled together, brushing teeth next to each other, taking turns carpooling their combined children, distributing them to their respective trains, trams and buses, getting back home for a brief treasured moment of togetherness before drifting off in different directions, wherever their work would take them... There would still be long stretches of separation and long-distance calls / _does such a thing still exist_ , he wonders/ and missing each other like crazy – but then there would also be the reassuring certainty of coming back to each other at the end of the day, or a week, to a _home_ , to the warm body of another human being, the other half of his soul...

He stretches lazily, smiling at his own foolishness and smirking at the romantic notes bubbling to his rough surface out of nowhere, revealing his soft insides like a dog offering its belly for you to scratch. Brick is peering at him from his spot next to the couch, noticing his look and rolling over as if to demonstrate. He gets on all four on the floor, fooling around with him for a few moments, the simple happiness the act it brings him matching the dog’s excitement, minus the tail wagging.

Eventually even the dog gets tired of all the attention, shakes off and hops on the cleared couch. _Smart_ _move, buddy,_ David chuckles to himself, glancing at the clock, realizing that it’s barely past six. She’s only been gone for 2 mere hours and he already misses her like crazy – her bubbly presence, her soft laughter, her attentive eyes, her quiet feet and restless hands...


	45. Caramel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think that everybody’s got that special someone who gets under their skin and doesn’t go away...”  
> ~ Hank Moody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It won't do  
> to dream of caramel,  
> to think of cinnamon  
> and long for you.
> 
> It won't do  
> to stir a deep desire,  
> to fan a hidden fire  
> that can never burn true.
> 
> I know your name,  
> I know your skin,  
> I know the way  
> these things begin;
> 
> But I don't know  
> how I would live with myself,  
> what I'd forgive of myself  
> if you don't go.
> 
> Suzanne Vega ~ Caramel  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kD7TZyLeCfk

He steps in the shower, reluctant to wash off the last traces of her, her scent and the Morse code of her fingerprints whispering _I love you_ on his soft tissue.

**..     .-.. --- ...- .     -.-- --- ..-**

Eight hours ago he had washed himself clean of her blood, but what he can’t scrub off is the image readily springing to his memory of fresh blood dripping from her core, a raw wound gaping under his shell-shocked hands, his tongue delving deep into the mystery of creation... He watches the hot soapy water disappear through the drain, a faint whisper of something ending, the steam attacking his sinuses and cleansing his pores. He rubs his tan skin until it’s red and tingly again, pulling on a pair of jeans over his still semi-hardened penis protesting in his boxers. He finds a dress shirt and reminds himself to go pick up the dry-cleaning. Then he grabs his wallet and a set of keys, Brick joining him excitedly, running in circles around his feet as he heads out the door aimlessly, taking the stairs two at a time, eager to feel the suffocating air of New York City embrace him and pull him into its currents, washing him ashore in Brooklyn.

\---

He probably shouldn’t be here, but he doesn’t care anymore. He couldn’t stay away from her. Now he’s watching in disbelief as she unravels yet again, not unlike she did this morning, slumping in his arms in fits of cry, and then she’s herself again – relief and exhaustion washing over her, pulling her under and raising her above on the wave of roaring applause that fills his senses and he has to close his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by all this – being here, being hers – again.

She has her back to him, tiny and muscular, the stage never ceasing to revolve, slowly spinning around so he can catch a glimpse of her face, tears streaming down her cheeks, blackened with smears of mascara and smudges of insane layers of eyeliner, stained with the improbable “come-hither” shade of her lipstick, a face so not hers – and yet showcasing all of her extraordinary emotions in every minute quirk of a lip, twitch of a muscle, lift of an eyebrow, shadow of an eyelash fallen over her eloquent eyes. She bows, giving him an ample view of her tight backside and strong calves, her heels bandaged and raw in her impossibly high pumps, her bright blonde hair sticking to her head in wet straw strands, and he is so f*cking proud of her, so astonished by the fact that at the end of the day, when all of this is over, her makeup and costume stripped along with the anguish and despair and the ache of that annoying southern drawl finally gone in a whisper, he will be holding her in his arms and making her writhe under him and moan into his mouth in a language of her own...

\- And then she’s suddenly there – so small against the backdrop of the black velvet curtain, reminiscent of their first encounter back in January – black velvet of her dress sliding and catching against the white silk of her skin, smooth under his hungry eyes and impatient fingers, shaky with need and fear that this is not happening, that this is all in his head – and it wouldn’t be the first time...

But then she’s in his arms, trembling like a bird, her wounded wings folded under his soothing touch.

“ _What are you doing here?_ ” she whispers incredulously into his chest and he smiles into her hair:

“ _I missed you. I didn’t want to be away from you... I don’t ever want to be away from you_.”

She purrs approvingly, immediately sliding her tongue into his mouth to reconnect with him on the most basic level, but then pulls away abruptly, aware of how much of the night is still ahead of her.

“ _Honey_ ,” she says almost regretfully, her voice laced with an apology, an endearment never used before, and it’s exactly what it feels like to him – warm honey pouring over him, sticky and sweet... “ _I have some things to finish here_.”

And he wants to tell her to screw it, to not go, to just come home with him where he’d draw her a bath to soothe her aching bones and massage her sore feet and kiss and love every square inch of her bruised skin, outside and in, making her come so hard... But he won’t say any of it, well aware of the futility of such attempt. He’s seen with his own eyes the crowds cheering for her that are probably lining up outside as they speak, waiting devotedly for her to come out and say hi and sign for them – and she will, ever so patiently, having a smile for every one of them. He knows and understands how much it means to her, to them, and he loves her even more for that. For her passion and dedication - to her art and to her fans.

She’s worked so hard for this and come so far from the anxiety-ridden self-conscious scraggly little girl whose hand he had held 23 years ago, half of her lifetime, and frankly, not even after all those years had he been able to quite let go... But he does now. Because he knows that she is strong enough to handle herself and he will hold her later, _all_ of her, all night long and she will be all his...

“ _Go home, babe,_ ” she breathes over his lips as he leans down to kiss her goodbye, the distance between them cut shorter by her once again insanely high heels that will leave her feet blistered, and he makes a mental note to get the cooling packs ready for later as he kisses her again, deeper, her face cradled in the palms of his hands, marveling at how perfectly it fits, how soft her lips are on his, how sweet her tongue tastes, wondering if she is wet at all as he feels himself getting hard again – before she pulls away, breathless and starry-eyed, just like the night four months ago, two weeks ago, 23 years and counting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure why so many of the songs I choose to accompany my writing have to do with food, maybe because I mostly write on my lunch breaks...? Either way, I blame Suzanne Vega for this one. So fitting for the mood. Hope you like. Feedback is always appreciated. xx


	46. Windows of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...because it's the rain she loves...  
>  ~ David Duchovny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The windows of the world are covered with rain  
> Where is the sunshine we once knew?  
> Ev'rybody knows when little children play  
> They need a sunny day to grow straight and tall  
> Let the sun shine through
> 
> The windows of the world are covered with rain  
> When will those black skies turn to blue?  
> Ev'rybody knows when boys grow into men  
> They start to wonder when their country will call  
> Let the sun shine through
> 
> The windows of the world are covered with rain  
> What is the whole world coming to?  
> Ev'rybody knows when men can not be friends  
> Their quarrel often ends where some have to die  
> Let the sun shine through
> 
> The windows of the world are covered with rain  
> There must be something we can do  
> Ev'rybody knows whenever rain appears  
> It's really angel tears  
> How long must they cry?  
> Let the sun shine through...
> 
> Burt Bacharach/Chrissie Hynde ~ Windows of the World  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmmmeBLcpxQ

London, November 9, 2016

Fall has fallen with the certainly of changing seasons - the rise - and the fall.

It didn’t come on the wings of angels like late October in LA, mild and moist and full of possibilities, like spring, like new beginnings... No, London fall comes on the wings of crows and ravens, clawing at the sky and ripping it apart, threatening rain any given moment. The morning is dreary, much like the state of the world, the cold drizzle creeping under her skin despite the layers of wool, cotton and useless lace, taking residence inside her bones to accompany the horror of the 6 o’clock news.

The randomly scattered yellowish leaves are decaying by the day, slippery on the cobblestone as her slim, toned, bright pink pantyhose-clad legs stride across the street with purpose, secured in her age-old black Steels that lace all along her calves and up to her knees, poking out from a thin cashmere overcoat.

Her hair is a mess of inevitable frizz, pale blonde strands pulled back into a loose bun, randomly framing her face that is virtually make-up free, because what is the point...? She's carrying an oversized umbrella (well, maybe oversized compared to her tiny body), black with a wire-frame heart design, courtesy of "her girls". That may be the only thing that made her smile today...

***

Night envelops him as soon as he gets on the plane, swallowing the sunny but angsty day, and he finally feels his body relax into the cushioned seat as darkness falls and weighs down his heavy eyelids. He is not quite sure what he is doing, all he knows is that it has been too damn long since the last time he had felt that his life made sense and his heart was complete and no amount of running around and looking for the missing pieces had seemed to have done the trick... So here he is, on the road again, in the air, the _itinerant stasis_...

When he opens his eyes, there’s heavy rain beating on the tiny round window and his ears are filled with the humming of the engines, struggling through the clouds. He checks the time, once again confused with the time difference, trying to imagine where she is and what she’s doing... It’s almost midnight at home and soon the world will get the news that will change it for good, one way or another, but only one of the sentences would be for the better.

He closes his eyes again, hoping so hard that it almost takes a form of a prayer.

Next time he opens them, the plane has just smoothly touched down on the tarmac and there’s that swooshing sound of breaks, the engines still running, the huge mass of metal finally coming to a standstill. He takes a deep breath, unconsciously rubbing his Saint Christopher medallion with the names of all of his beloved... except the one that his heart had never stopped aching for.  

It is 7am when he enters the arrivals hall of Heathrow airport and is hit by the headlines of the newspapers from around the world.

**_F*CK. Thisisnothappening...thisisnothappening...thisisnothappening..._ **

His mind is stuck in a panic mode. He needs to call someone in the US to confirm that. No, he needs to call someone to tell him that it’s a terrible mistake... This can’t be true... The world has gone mad. He feels betrayed, hurt, a physical pain, as if someone had kicked him in the ribs, almost. He wants to call his children, but it is 2 am on a school-night and they’d better be in bed. He can’t call his mom for the very same reason. Or Téa for that matter... He’s striding through the hall, trying to concentrate on his steps, his breathing, his immediate future, so as not to panic about the greater, only slightly distant one...

His immediate future is her. She’s here, just a cab-ride away from him and if there is anything or anyone who can make things right for him again, she’s the one...

***

She thought she’d numbed herself in order to make it through the day, but her heart has betrayed her and she can feel pain blossom deep within her chest, sharp and strangely warm, like blood trickling from a fresh wound... Oh the blood... the memory is still fresh, even months later, of their hasty love-making, the love-crazed days of summer, the ache ever so vivid just under her skin, drowning in the rain now.... The way his sharp angles fit so perfectly with her softness, the sweetness pouring over them. It will never cease to amaze her. Or haunt her...

But it's been over two months since their crazy adventure in Chicago and her body ached for him in a way she had never experienced with anyone else... It wasn't just need, it was a chilling emptiness that could only be filled by him and no other. Not that she would know. There never was and never could be any other like that. She knew that now. With the same certainty as she missed the way his form would fit hers, his warmth and light pouring in all of her cracks and making her whole again. The way his hand would sneak around her waist and pull her into him, his lips softly grazing her neck, followed by the exquisite sensation of his teeth sinking into her tender flesh...

She shivers with the memory and can almost feel his arms, his weight, his skin... The smell of it, of him...

***

He’s rushing down her street, trying to avoid any fuss by taking a subway like a normal person, his light feet in sharp contrast to his heavy heart, head bent down to duck the rain that’s suddenly turned into an unlikely late fall storm. The cold water is running down his neck and it’s hard to tell the difference between the chill of the rain and the thrill of finally getting to hold her in just a few more breaths...

And then...

There’s that tiny form he would recognize anywhere – even bundled up in a heavy coat, huddled under an umbrella and donning her high-school boots, he’s certain that it’s her...

Unless... He hesitates for a moment, suddenly remembering something, slowing down to catch his breath. He’s trying to think clearly, to figure out the chances that this might be Piper instead, momentarily confused and mislead by her racy stockings, but then she pulls down the hood of her coat and reveals the half-moon of her face that he knows by heart, that makes his fingers tingle with the memory of the perfect etching of her jaw-line and the softness of her skin...

And then he’s not thinking anymore...  

***

She must have gone crazy, because she can feel it now, his arm sneaking around her, sending shivers down her spine. She jumps when she feels his breath on her neck, his lips sucking on her skin, his tongue darting out to lick off the trickles of rain like a thirsty beast.

 _This can’t be..._ is her last thought before he spins her around, making her face him, his eyes as wide as hers, as if they’re seeing each other for the first time...

The first time in three months...

She reaches out for his hand and he squeezes her fingers gently, tentatively, as if in reassurance that he is real. His other hand sets out to trace the delicate outline of her precious face and she suddenly feels like a teenage girl on a school-bus again, so shy and scared of all the possibilities, of crossing a line, wondering if this will ever go away with him, after all the years of balancing on the razor edge - but then his lips are on hers again, right here on the street, in front of her very house (so much for being discreet) and she doesn't care, she doesn't care if anyone recognizes them, if this will be the talk of the town tomorrow, if anyone gives a f*ck. Because she doesn’t. She doesn't and she knows that he doesn’t, as he drops his bag on the bloody wet ground to pick her up and spin her around and she squeals like a girl, the way she did when he threw her in the waves of the Pacific or when he tickled her insane in one of the stolen moments of carefree abandon. For a moment like that she doesn’t even care about the doom and gloom of the day that will forever mark the history as the day on which reason and humanity lost.

For that one sacred tiny piece of eternity that she allows herself (just in case that this really _is_ the beginning of the end of the world), she locks her arms around his neck and sends a silent prayer to the heavens for the end (whenever it does come) to be just like this: a warm and quiet place in the pouring rain, the taste of her name on his tongue as he whispers it deep into her mouth, over and over again, relentlessly, and the way their soaked coat-clad bodies fit together, still, again, despite everything - the rain, the distance, the reason, whatever is left of it....

On an impulse she steps with her toes on the tips of his shoes to get closer to him, like a little girl...

“ _Why don’t we go inside_ ,” she whispers against his tongue, their breathing already heavy, as she blindly struggles with the doorknob behind her back. He pushes into the door, making it swing wide open, then spins them around again, effectively pinning her against it, his hungry mouth latched onto the delicate skin of her neck, but she evades him, stepping aside and stopping him with one hand on his chest, the other still holding the nape of his neck to make him look at her.

“ _Shhhh_ ,” she sooths him with gentle little kisses as he tries to protest.

“ _There is no rush_ ,” she says gravely, her fingers tangled in his hair, “ _we have the whole rest of our lives..._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, this is a huge leap, I know, but somehow I felt the need to bring this story to the present and make it more up-to-date. Once again, more than ever, I can't stress enough that this is pure fiction, based on some random facts, but mostly on my wild imagination and a good deal of wishful thinking. The only thing I truly believe is that love does win after all. Big thanks to everyone who's still sticking around. xx me


	47. In The Bleak Midwinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...like some fairy tale dissolve,  
> "Once upon a time" or twice  
> written on our little page of earth, ground,  
> wherever our home may be  
> will be  
> wherever we happen  
> to be.”
> 
> ~ David Duchovny, Cliché Juice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan  
> Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone  
> Snow had fallen, snow on snow  
> In the bleak midwinter, long, long ago  
> God, heaven cannot hold Him nor the earth sustain  
> Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign  
> In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed  
> The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ  
> ...  
> What can I give Him, poor as I am?  
> If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb  
> If I were a wise man I would do my part  
> Yet what I can, I give Him, give my heart
> 
> Chrissie Hynde ~ In The Bleak Midwinter  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOdlWvdR3l4

December 31, 2016

“ _Hmmmmm, I like that_ ,” she murmurs into the warm skin of his chest as he runs his strong soothing hands along her shoulders and her back and then back to her hair, tousling and twirling it absentmindedly, humming in content.

“ _What’s that?_ ” he asks lazily, his eyes closed and his lips barely moving against the top of her head.

There is _so much_ to love if you asked him... This beautiful cottage hidden in the woods of the Pennines, the magic of snowed-up mountains and touching warmth of the crackling fire, its light reflecting off her hair, reminiscent of its colour from years ago... all that so worth the 6-hour flight and 5-hour drive up here.

\---

She’s the one doing the driving, of course, picking him up at the airport and heading straight up north, the boys strapped in the back playing 5 questions and singing along with the radio, while she shoots him occasional sideway glances that make his heart flutter like a butterfly trapped in a spider-web – the softest thread of her love binding his hands and tugging at his heart-strings with a pull that he cannot resist.

He reaches across the console to gently touch her fingertips, craving contact with her skin after being apart from her for too long and now finally sitting so close and yet so far from actually touching her. She responds immediately, intertwining her fingers with his, her small hand disappearing completely in his big warm palm.

The boys in the backseat exchange knowing looks, but this time refrain from rolling their eyes. Maybe because she gave them a warning eyebrow in the rearview mirror. He stifles a chuckle and squeezes her hand in a gesture of thanks and appreciation. He wants to kiss her so badly, their quick passionate welcome kiss still burning on his lips and shooting straight through his core, but he settles for mouthing an “ _I love you_ ” and tightening his grip.

She extricates her hand though and lets it slowly, deliberately slide down his thigh and then back up again, gently kneading his happy flesh.

He groans and smiles like an idiot, leaning back in his seat and snaking his arm around her shoulders, resting his hand on the nape of her neck where he rubs and smoothes out the knots and kinks while she purrs contentedly.

Five hours of ride in the safe and comfortable confines of her Range Rover pass easily in their enjoyable companionship, not once reminding him of the itinerant stasis of the well-attended air and white timelessness of his wingless, prayerful flight into the wild blue yonder.

\---

So now they are here and she is curled in his arms, her Snow White face resting on his warm chest, rising and falling with his even breaths, her cheeks burning with the heat of the fire, her frozen limbs finally melting as he rubs them back to life, occasionally stroking her hair and her back, holding her close, breathing her in...

“ _The way you play with my hair_ ,” she purrs, mirroring his languid movements with her hands under his shirt and tilting her head so that she can reach his lips for a kiss – slow, soft and lingering...

_Snow had fallen, snow on snow..._

...and has been, all day long.

And he knew the moment he saw her reflection on the snow-covered hill that he’d been taken by a landslide and there was no going back... He will never be able to erase the memory of her standing on the top of the mountain, her long blonde hair pulled back by a pair of soft fuzzy earmuffs falling loosely over her padded shoulders, her small form wrapped air-tight in a black overall and the bright light creating a hello over her as she tilted her head to catch the sunshine, the snow reflecting off her pale skin giving her an angelic aura. She noticed him staring at her and smiled at him, her face glowing with happiness and love that he could feel pouring over him. Then she waved at him with one of the poles, using the other one to push herself off and within seconds slid down to him in one smooth and elegant move, her hips swaying as she shifted her weight against the gravity that she easily defied with her grace. She just narrowly passed him, stopping abruptly with a surprisingly forceful cut of one of her skis, leaving behind a cloud of snow and a couple of admirers on the sidelines. Her smile was wide now, pride creeping into her face when she saw his genuine amazement and heard his appreciative whistle. Her eyes were dancing with joy and he had never felt so proud of her...

Though, who was he trying to fool – he has _always_ been proud of her – from the moment she got her part on the show against all the odds, through the first time he had held her hand to help her ride out her first bout of stage-fright, through the time she had told him she was pregnant and he was mad and disappointed and scared as hell, but also so proud of her for being so brave and courageous to stand up for her choices, through all of their turbulences, her stubborness, her strong statements and wise decisions as well as her complete failures followed by her incredible persistence, her ability and will to rise up again, over and over, like Phoenix from the flames, to the final, possibly bravest act – of kissing him boldly in the street not two months ago, not giving a f*ck if anyone sees them – because she wanted to, because she believed that it was right – because maybe, just maybe, her love for him meant more to her at that moment than anything else in the entire world... And he so was proud of her right now, as he watched her glow and wished that he was the reason why... wished to make her proud of him as well...

So he took a deep breath and took a plunge and flew by her on his unsteady legs and the last thing he heard was her whistle that turned into a fit of laughter as he lost balance and tumbled down the hill, not quite sure what had happened there...

She was down by his side in a flash, not laughing anymore, though she could not quite wipe the mirth off her face.

“ _That was **good**_ ,” she lied enthusiastically and he had to appreciate the gesture.

She helped him up, brushed him off, kissed him better and they tried again... and again, and again... failing. For the love of G*d he could not get his lanky legs to cooperate and finally gave up and opted for a snowboard in hopes to eliminate the lack-of-leg-coordination issue... only to end up with very much the same result. To great amusement of both Oscar and Felix who have already mastered their boards with jarring confidence /courtesy of their father/, while he was spending more time on the ground than on his feet, giving them all the perfect opportunity to create a dog-pile and roll in the snow-drifts, Gillian delightfully joining in, giggling like crazy.

He grumbled and whined for his hurt ego more than his bruised limbs, but as soon as the boys got up to keep going, he pulled her back down to him, rolled her over in the snow and kissed her breathless, until she couldn’t even laugh anymore, just drink his breath from his lips, feeling her head floating high above and for a moment she remembered that time when they stood in front of her door, kissing in the rain like love-crazed teenagers and she had wished for the world to end like that... Well, this was another image to add to that bank... She could have died then and there – and be perfectly happy.

Or now.

“ _I can’t think of a time when I felt this content..._ ” She’s pensive, reflective, suddenly nostalgic... “ _So safe..._ ” she breathes out as if an afterthought.

And then she drifts off the way you only do after a day full of winter fun, while he holds her in his arms and continues to stroke her hair until his arms go limp and he follows - first slowly and then all at once...

***

Close to midnight the fire dies down and the cold air wakes him from his sweet slumber, overjoyed and thankful once again to realize that this time he was not dreaming this – this was really happening...

He gently extricates himself from the soft web of her arms and legs and gets up to stoke the red-glowing ambers and feed the stove with more pine wood. The scent of sap fills the room with Christmas magic and once again an overwhelming sense of bliss clutches at his heart as he picks her up and carries her upstairs, where he tucks her in a large bed with crisp linen sheets and covers her face with feather-light kisses, nuzzling her cheeks, her neck and her breasts – until she stirs awake, making him pull away, suddenly feeling guilty about waking her, but knowing all too well that he couldn’t have stopped himself if had tried...

But instead of pushing him away and turning around to go back to sleep, she locks her arms around his neck, pulling him closer and kissing him back – hard, with purpose, wet words of love whispered frantically in his ear, his neck and his mouth turning into soft moans of need, growing into a silent call for him – and then he’s falling into her, slowly and quietly like the snow behind the windows, brightening up the darkness, melting her from the inside out and then drinking her all up, thirstily, insatiably, burning bright until both of their needs are stilled, their skin singing happily and their breaths synced.

Their “ _I love you’s_ ” come out on an air of wonder, their bodies tightening instinctively against each other for some small protection against the world...

And the world keeps rushing on, somewhere in the distance a church-bell announces midnight and he lifts himself up on his elbow, looking down at her with such intent reverence that she can feel her cheeks blossom with a girly blush and she almost averts her eyes, but his lips are faster, capturing hers in a long, passionate kiss followed by a much softer “ _Happy New Year._ ”

She looks at him confused, sleepy and drunk on the post-coital bliss, taking a moment to catch up. He smiles that smug self-satisfied smile of his, knowing damn well that it’s all his doing and for the first time today feeling pretty proud of himself. He picks up the alarm clock from the bed-side table to show to her.

“ _It’s midnight_ ,” he says slowly as if talking to a child or a hard-of-hearing person.

He watches as understanding slowly lights up her face and then leans back for another kiss, but changes his mind mid-air, aiming for her ear instead. He nibbles it softly, making her squirm, before whispering:

“ _See, the world still didn’t end..._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full poem 'Cliché Juice' by David Duchovny:
> 
> Home is where the heart is and my heart is  
> out travelling. Up into the wild blue yonder,  
> wingless, prayerful that this miracle of flight  
> will not end, just yet  
> Also at home, with you, on the ground  
> wherever you might be at the moment, grounded  
> like a highschooler, like a wire, a bird and a wire,  
> feet on the ground and my heart in my throat now, now  
> in my feet, lawfully descending with gravity  
> to the lower, lowest, most sought after  
> most beautifully bound, home.  
> Aspirations involve reparations. We reach  
> for the stars wondering what we are.  
> But my Reason has been found  
> by finding you and looking down And it is there,  
> not in the stars of fantasized worlds, fifth  
> dimensions, sixth senses, holy parallel potentates of  
> potentialities - that my feet will trace  
> their slow as history itself dance:  
> a walking calligraphy so subtle that it will take 40 years  
> and more and a view from above  
> with an impersonal remove and lofty attachment I hope  
> to barely fail at that mythical two-backed beast; itinerant stasis;  
> like the one I enjoy up here in the well attended air,  
> to read the cursive strokes of my aggregate footsteps,  
> like some fairy tale dissolve, "Once upon a time" or twice  
> written on our little page of earth, ground,  
> wherever our home may be  
> will be  
> wherever we happen  
> to be. 
> 
> \---
> 
> The major inspiration for this story...
>
>> [Because it's a lovely #winter day & #GillianAnderson is in #Switzerland](https://www.instagram.com/p/BPZz-j8ghyy/)   
> 


	48. Hallelujah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I heard there was a secret chord  
> That David played and it pleased the Lord  
> But you don't really care for music, do you?  
> Well it goes like this:  
> The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift  
> The baffled king composing Hallelujah
> 
> Well your faith was strong but you needed proof  
> You saw her bathing on the roof  
> Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya  
> She tied you to her kitchen chair  
> She broke your throne and she cut your hair  
> And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
> 
> Baby, I've been here before  
> I've seen this room and I've walked this floor (you know)  
> I used to live alone before I knew ya  
> And I've seen your flag on the marble arch  
> And love is not a victory march  
> It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
> 
> There was a time when you let me know  
> What's really going on below  
> But now you never show that to me, do ya?  
> But remember when I moved in you  
> And the holy dove was moving too  
> And every breath we drew was *Hallelujah*
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YrLk4vdY28Q

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The great thing about music is that somehow a sad song makes you happy. Some kind of magic happens..."  
> ~ David Duchovny
> 
> "And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took a harp, and played with his hand: so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from him." – 1 Samuel 16:23 
> 
> From the Hebrew name דָּוִד (Dawid), which was probably derived from Hebrew דוד (dwd) meaning "beloved". David was the second and greatest of the kings of Israel, ruling in the 10th century BC. Several stories about him are told in the Old Testament, including his defeat of Goliath, a giant Philistine. According to the New Testament, Jesus was descended from him.  
> This name has been used in Britain since the Middle Ages. It has been especially popular in Wales, where it is used in honour of the 5th-century patron saint of Wales (also called Dewi), as well as in Scotland, where it was borne by two kings. Famous bearers include philosopher David Hume (1711-1776), explorer David Livingstone (1813-1873), musician David Bowie (1947-2016). It is also the name of the hero of Charles Dickens' semi-autobiographical novel 'David Copperfield' (1850).  
> http://www.behindthename.com/name/david

_In the middle of the dark kitchen, in the cabin in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night..._

She's sitting on the counter, wearing his long sleeve shirt that is reaching all the way to her knees, her tiny bare feet dangling in the cold air while she eagerly nibbles at leftover Chinese from the tell-tale paper box.

He smiles as he approaches, unnoticed by her as she's too immersed in her midnight booty, and he’s thinking to himself (for the umpteenth time) that he couldn’t possibly love her more than he does right now.

He can almost hear his heart beating in his throat and wonders briefly if she can possibly hear it too – when her eyes fly up to meet his and her sudden smile lights up the darkened room like midnight sun. Her eyes are shy and even in the shadows of the night he can see blush creeping up her chest and to her cheeks. She is 48 years old – and yet there are times like this when she reminds him so much of his seventeen year old daughter – and just like her, he wants to protect her and make her feel his love.

“ _Hey_ ,” he whispers softly, closing the distance between them, but stopping short of touching her, just taking in her form bathed in the shadow-light of a sole lantern burning outside.

“ _Hey yourself_ ,” she responds in her trademark flirty tone, licking her lips in an enticing mixture of self-consciousness and seductiveness that is innate to her and that she is not even aware of. Her eyes are bold and her face open and he’s thinking, _what a change from the self-protecting defensiveness of the days long passed_...

“ _Got the munchies?_ ” he asks playfully, amusement lacing his warm voice, soaking through the pores of her skin and making her feel all fuzzy inside, like woolen socks pulled over cold feet at night-time.

“ _Uh-huh_ ,” she mumbles with her mouth full, making him want to pull her in and kiss her all over.

As he contemplates that, his hands itching for the feel of her skin, she extends her chopsticks to him with a perfect bite of noodles and veggies.

He’s not hungry for food at all, but obliges anyway, taking the bite in his mouth and her hand in his, their eyes bleeding into each other’s.

She watches contentedly as he chews, pensive for a moment before speaking up, reaching out with her other hand to touch his face, her tender fingers dancing through his stubble.

“ _We had such a wonderful day with the boys today... It’s been such a long time since I’ve felt like this..._ ”

She pauses, searching his eyes for something and he wishes with all his heart that she finds it there.

There’s a shift in her expression, a flutter of eyelashes casting a shadow over her sun-kissed cheeks, connecting her freckles like dots in a puzzle. A puzzle he wants to spend the rest of his life solving. 

When she returns her gaze on his, her eyes are wet and her voice just slightly above a whisper...

“ _Like a family_ ,” she finishes and looks at her bare toes, her cheeks a bright shade of pink now.

He’s quiet as he searches his mind for something to say and, failing, decides to act instead, leaning down to take her face in his hands and kiss the top of her head, hoping that she can feel from that sweet gesture the love and the gratitude pour over her, the way it’s been filling his heart.

She must, because she sighs, ever so softly, before she pulls him closer, tilting her head back to kiss him, her lips grazing his gently and her legs relaxing, letting him step between her thighs before she wraps them around him, digging her heels into him and eliciting a groan out of his mouth as both of their centers come in contact, the simple touch of tender flesh through the thin fabric of their underwear creating an immediate connection at the most basic level.

She swallows his moan and lets it blend with hers in her mouth, her tongue hot and demanding on his, her fingers raking through his hair, her body aching for the exquisite pleasure of his skin on hers... She pulls and tugs at his clothes haphazardly until she manages to free him from his underwear and he slides into her quietly and with ease, stilling immediately and closing his eyes, taking a moment to let them both relish the wonder of reconnecting, of being whole again within each other.

A soft cry escapes her mouth and she buries her face in his shoulder to muffle it, suddenly too aware of the presence of the boys behind these thin walls and feeling exposed, vulnerable, with the off chance that they’d just walk into the kitchen. She realizes that she had never had anyone but their father anywhere near her with the boys around...

He hesitates before he starts moving, his voice catching in his throat before he manages to whisper in her ear:

“ _What are you thinking_?”

She smiles into his neck, her fingers gentle on his face, tracing his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his jaw-line and travelling to his lips, closely followed by her own, sweet and tender this time, their kiss slow and meaningful, conveying more of a truth than their words ever could. And yet she tries...

“ _Just how much I love you,_ ” she says with disarming honesty, her eyes blazing on his – “ _this_...”

With that he resumes his thrusts, moving slowly at an even pace, placing wet open-mouth kisses on her neck and chest, leaving her skin aching, branded by his passion and burning for more.

She’s holding on to him like he’s a crucifix, her only anchor in the raging storm.

 _She_ is the storm though, her hips rising and falling under his swelling body, the friction if their pubic bones leaving their soft tissue bruised and achy and yet singing happily...

They come together, connected by their lips and hips and fingers, a sealed secret witnessed only by this kitchen and the stillness and darkness surrounding them, a shiver and a fall, her legs going limp on his sides, his hands sliding down her back and to her hips to help her off the counter and into his arms....        

They're both quiet for a long time, just holding on to each other, swaying slowly and languidly on the kitchen floor to a tune that only they can hear. She could swear that she can hear him hum, but for all she knows it may just be the blood still singing in her ears, the rush of "happy hormones" flooding her system, the even beat of their hearts. 

 _Scully would have this all down, analysed & figured out_, she thinks to herself. But she is just a girl. She knows nothing, but how good his hands feel on her back and in her hair, how safe she feels in his presence, her head resting on his chest, tucked just under his chin, keeping her in place, the only place she belongs now... How much she's gotten used to having him around. How much she needs him. How much she wants to know about him...

“ _What are **you** thinking?_ ” she asks him back when she finally finds her voice again, a muffled whisper against the solid mass of him, suddenly reminiscent of one of their last scenes together on the show.

He too remembers it so clearly, a physical memory stored just under his skin. Her warm body curled into his on a narrow bed exactly the way it was scripted - and then some more, the red of her hair burning bright against her pale skin and a light blue gown under the merciless heat of the stage lights, her fingers travelling his face and her eyes... Oh her _eyes_ – he can see it now, again, and the recognition shocks him – there’s that familiar gleam that he only now knows to read as devotion, a love so unconditional and pure he would never have dared hope for. He can see now what he could not admit to himself 14 years ago, when the final " _cut_ " rang through the room like a gunshot, snapping them out of their quiet reverie, and she looked at him with those misty eyes with a silent question that also could have been an answer to his prayers a long long time ago... And he looked away, refusing to see what he does now - that she loves him, simply and purely – then and now. What _was_ he thinking, really...?

And yet, for just a split second a default “ _nothing_ ” is trying to fight its way to the surface, blowing her off like he used to, to protect himself, for what it’s worth.

“ _What are you thinking?_ ”

– And then, through the sweet magnolia scent of her soap (and her glory), he can smell an even sweeter undertone of sweat breaking on her skin, speaking to something deep within him – and it finally hits him that all of his running around is worth _nothing_.

 _He wants her to know him_ – inside and out.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---
> 
> Today marks the opening day of David's 3 week US Hell or Highwater tour, so you'll understand that this needed to be done <3 My love goes to everyone who's still sticking around: to Vavie, who always supports me and nudges me around, despite my kicking & screaming (please say hi to Mr.DD for me :-*)), to Lena, who stood beside me as we listened to that incarnation of Janis Joplin sing this song on the London Underground and all of our voices broke at the Marble Arch bit, and to Katja & Ingrid always. See you very soon! xx


	49. You Can't Always Get What You Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I saw her today at the reception  
> A glass of wine in her hand  
> I knew she was gonna meet her connection  
> At her feet was a footloose man 
> 
> You can't always get what you want  
> You can't always get what you want  
> But if you try sometimes well you might find  
> You get what you need... 
> 
> Rolling Stones ~ You Can't Always Get What You Want  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oqMl5CRoFdk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I had to say this on a show many years ago, and I truly believe it: Loneliness is a choice. I like to be alone, I’m more comfortable alone. But I do recognize that I take it too far sometimes and so I try to force myself to keep up with being sociable. I just am a bit of a lone ranger; I always have been. But I don’t believe that necessarily has to translate to being lonely. You can be lonely in a crowd of a thousand people. I can be in a hotel room all alone and not feel lonely. It all comes down to how comfortable you are with who you are in the silence.”  
> ~ Gillian Anderson, 2015

February 24, 2017

She wakes up early that Friday morning, as if from a vivid dream that she can’t remember though. Her heart is racing, there’s a strange taste in her mouth and her lips are tingling... for his. It has been 8 weeks since she last felt his mouth on hers at that damn airport ( _will they always live their lives separated by airports, counted down by the time difference?_ ) and though they had gone through separations much longer than this, it has become increasingly difficult for her to stay away from him.

She used to pride herself on being all independent and never needing anyone – and she doesn’t, still, she is perfectly fine being alone, it gives her time to do her own thing, focus on herself, her art, her thoughts... but when loneliness hits, it is a whole another story. And it’s so happened, she recognizes suddenly, that the clenching feeling that’s inhabited her chest this morning, is indeed _loneliness_. She misses him. She has grown accustomed to his companionship, the warmth of his body and the feeling of safety he gives her – and she misses all of it when he is not around. But most of all, she misses the sound of his voice. The way it strokes her ear and soothes her soul... it’s intoxicating. It’s a habit she cannot and doesn’t want to give up.

Of course they can still talk on the phone, and they have, as much as they can, but with him touring now, being on the road or in rehearsal or in concert and doing press in-between, the window of opportunity has shrunk to the quick late night calls just before he falls asleep, completely exhausted, catching her still sleepy or in the morning rush already, depending on what day of the week it is. And as lovely as it is to hear him drift slowly into sleep, it also breaks her heart a little bit every time, because she can’t be there with him, snuggled close to his broad chest, held tight in his strong embrace.

Somehow these days are harder than before, because there’s pictures of him everywhere and she’s found herself more than once spending her morning after one of those talks, after dropping the boys off to school, just sitting down in the kitchen with her coffee, bundled up in one of his soft oversized sweatshirts that he left behind for her, feet tucked under her and staring at her tablet, scrolling through dozens of photos from his shows, marveling at his energy that she's so intimately familiar with now. She can _feel_ it even from the screen, his beautiful slender body, those arms that she misses so much around her...

And it is today, two weeks into it, when she catches the final notes of one of her favourite Rolling Stones tunes while brushing her teeth and examining her tired face in the bathroom mirror, missing that certain kind of light that only he knows how to bring out, that she decides that she just can’t keep doing that to herself anymore...

 _Loneliness **is** a choice_... And she refuses to give in to it anymore...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC ;)


	50. Seems Like Old Times...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seems like old times having you to walk with  
> Seems like old times having you to talk with  
> And it’s still a thrill just to have my arms around you  
> Still the thrill that it was the day I found you  
> Seems like old times, dinner dates and flowers  
> Just like old times, staying up all hours  
> Making dreams come true, doing things we used to do  
> Seems like old times here with you...
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9FAV3zr1PMk  
> Guy Lombardo / Diane Keaton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “For me, if I start to feel bad enough, that means I’m not expressing myself or getting something out, so that’s a sign I’m not being disciplined enough, not trying to get it out. It’s more like an equilibrium I’m looking for, where I can stop feeling so sh*tty.” ~ David Duchovny, 2017

She breezes in on a waft of cool ocean air, her skin salty and her hair full of moonlight glitter, eyes aglow with sparkles of excitement on the deep sea blue, even darker now in the dim light of the venue, one she had not visited in 20 years.

  
A sudden memory washes over her like tidal wave, the smell of the ocean and the driftwood and the cold air of that late October night over 20 years ago, the one night he took her out to a Bruce Springsteen concert here at Stone Pony, the year when her marriage inevitably fell apart and he was still free to love her... They took off for the weekend, flew to the east coast, got stoned or wasted or both and made out on the pier like teenagers... It was just one weekend. One brief moment that had meant eternity to them. It was everything back then - and yet she must have forgotten somehow, pushed the memory so far down beneath all of the other bullshit that has riddled her life since then. 

Until now. 

But now, being here, smelling the unmistakable scent of the shore, the boardwalk, the cotton candy and seasalt caramels, feeling the shift of sand and pebbles under her feet, so different from the beaches she knows from home, it's all coming back with the rush you feel the first time you see and hear the ocean, the way it envelopes all of your senses, or the first time you make love to the one you love, the sound of your hearts in your ears, and it feels so surreal to think that 20 years later it's still him. Him on the stage and her behind the scenes, holding her breath - for him, for herself, for whatever fate has in store for them... 

Tonight.

\---

He can feel that something is different tonight. Maybe it's just the atmosphere of this place, the memories crammed in its stone walls, years of shows, the energy flowing between the performer and the audience, that kind of magic that he is now experiencing himself, something he never would have thought possible, not even a year ago... And here he is - here he is - 20 years since the night on the pier, the sudden sense of infinity as they kissed, madly, desperately, for all times, knowing damn well, but choosing to forget, that this might well be the last time. 

Her lips were salty from the air and the ocean and the tears, the sense of an ending. He licks his lips unconsciously, still aware of the tingling of hers, a feeling that never went away. He touches them in a futile attempt to brush it away, when the light kicks in and the screams intensify - and there he is - washed up on the stage on a wave of cheers that roll over him like ocean spray. 

He grips the microphone, closes his eyes and tries to banish the memory of her tiny body in his arms as she shivered in the cold wind causing the waves to crush against the stone pier. - And just like that the image dissolves behind his closed eyes and when he opens them again, he is fully taken by the crowd, hundreds of eyes fixed on him, and for a moment he is not looking for that one set - the blueish-grey ones, alive with spots of gold...

\---

He, unlike her, has never forgotten. Though buried under layers over layers of responsibilities, family duties and recent events, there's always been the memory of her standing at the end of the pier, turning around to face him with waves crashing around her creating a mist that made the whole picture look even more mysterious, in an almost sacred way - and those eyes, burning bright like those of a character from John Fowles's novels. 

\---

Those eyes are now watching him intently from backstage, an overwhelming feeling of secrecy, of a forbidden sin, gripping at her heart, her breath coming in short as if she's afraid that he could hear her through the music after all and the hundreds of voices singing along.  
She dares not sing with them, but her heart does all the singing for her, trembling with desire and fear and all of the sudden teenage anxiety of being near the loved one, the one denied for too long, one that doesn't belong to her, one she's only secretly admired for as long as she knows...  
Her nervous energy bursts in like tidal waves crashing at the pier, she can almost feel the spray cooling her skin. The sweetness of the music and his beloved voice fills her ears and she can finally see him now...

\---

And there he is - right there in front of her, like a vivid dream, one she had dreamt on way too many sleepless nights - she watches his movements in a haze of lust, the night feeling absolutely surreal, pulsing through her veins and making her lose all track of time. She's floating on the air of his overwhelming presence that makes everything else disappear, her world shrinking and expanding at once into his blur of energy - until that one point in the show when he turns around, spinning on his heel - and suddenly everything stops: the world, the show, her heart, her breath. Like so many times before for that split second when their eyes meet nothing else exists. It's always been like that. It always will be. Like a small piece of eternity passing between then - until he comes back to his senses as if with a snap, standing upright, turning back to his band and exchanging signals with them, well aware that something has changed dramatically and there is only one song they can play right now.

He dares not look back when he strikes the chords, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stand her longing look. Just the very fresh memory of it alone is enough to burn in his mind as he sings and the shared memory bursts onto the surface in an almost tangible way...

_Take me now, baby here as I am..._

The first time they made love he had pushed himself all the way in, slowly, deliberately, and she tried to count her breaths for _1 - 2..._ but lost count halfway through the double digits - when her breath hitched and got lost in the tears that fell from her eyes... 

_Because tonight..._


	51. Because Tonight...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She’s part of my history, of my life, and always will be, so there’s a profound attachment.”~ David Duchovny
> 
> “Women feel everything, even if we don’t say a word. In fact, especially then. Because silence is the ultimate weapon.” ~ Gillian Anderson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take me now baby here as I am  
> Pull me close, try and understand  
> Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe  
> Love is a banquet on which we feed
> 
> Come on now try and understand  
> The way I feel when I'm in your hands  
> Take my hand come undercover  
> They can't hurt you now,  
> Can't hurt you now, can't hurt you now  
> Because the night belongs to lovers  
> Because the night belongs to lust  
> Because the night belongs to lovers  
> Because the night belongs to us
> 
> Have I doubt when I'm alone  
> Love is a ring, the telephone  
> Love is an angel disguised as lust  
> Here in our bed until the morning comes  
> Come on now try and understand  
> The way I feel under your command  
> Take my hand as the sun descends  
> They can't touch you now,  
> Can't touch you now, can't touch you now  
> Because the night belongs to lovers ...
> 
> With love we sleep  
> With doubt the vicious circle  
> Turn and burns  
> Without you I cannot live  
> Forgive, the yearning burning  
> I believe it's time, too real to feel  
> So touch me now, touch me now, touch me now  
> Because the night belongs to lovers ...
> 
> Because tonight there are two lovers  
> If we believe in the night we trust  
> Because tonight there are two lovers ...
> 
> Patti Smith ~ Because Tonight  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xACZHv-sLCg

She tries, every time, to ready herself for the feeling of him inside her, her favourite fantasy that she goes to in her long and lonely nights, his length and his width, his strength as he fills her in ways she can never manage with on her own, her fingers clumsy and shaky in those sudden overwhelming moments of frenzy, her need taking over in the middle of the night in another random hotel room, half the world away from his touch.

But she is never, never quite ready for this – the shocking surge of his presence washing over her like a tidal wave, a rush of absolute pleasure quite literally knocking the air out of her – as he stills, completely, counting her breaths – _one – two – three_ – until she opens her eyes – _four_ – with gasp and – _five_ – smiles at him in that vulnerable way that makes him want to cry, makes him want to crush her to him and never let go, makes him want to come – to her, with her, in her – over and over again, their hips crushing and colliding, his kisses a sloppy mess on her neck and her throat and her breasts…

\---

When it’s over, their bodies softened and their breathing still hard, the sudden blues creeps in out of nowhere, veiling them over like the softest quilt of guilt, sorrow and regret, an unwanted guest that’s been peeking through the hole in the floor this whole time… Now with the floor gone there is no solid ground under their feet, no shelter, nothing to hold on to but each other – closer and further from each other with every shaky breath… And this time he won’t hold back his tears, because what if this is the last time? What if he will never see her like this again? Naked to the teeth and open in his arms like the blossom of morning glory. What if he will never hold her close and taste her skin – touch her with his hands, his mouth, his mind…

He tries so hard to make a mental map of her body, to imprint it in his brain, to keep it as a token for all times… But what about her soul? The ephemeral quicksilver substance of her being that changes all the time, slipping through his fingers like the sand on the beaches of Venice, the water of the Pacific, the blood he can feel on her pulse points – rushing onward, never stopping, never once looking back…

She’s peering at him from behind her tender eyelashes, so innocent and unaware, the ocean blue spilling over him and bringing his ship home. He squeezes her so tight that he’s afraid that at any given moment he may hear one of her delicate ribs crack, but he can’t help it, the sudden desperation taking a hold on him, he is so not ready to let go…  
And as a matter of fact, she’s holding on to him just as hard, trying to soothe the heart-shattering sobs that now ripple through his whole body, as she hums the off-key tune of Neil Young’s Helpless into his ear…

_“Helpless, helpless, helpless, baby can you hear me now?_

_The chains are locked and tied across the door, baby, sing with me somehow…”_

The memory of the most unexpected reunion of almost 2 years ago rushes to the surface, flooding them both, hot tears streaming down their faces, until they run out… And then quiet settles in, the deafening kind of quiet that he finally breaks on a tail of a stifled whimper, his voice shaky like a newborn puppy:

“ _So is this it? Is this how it ends?_ ”

He closes his eyes in a foolish attempt to close his ears to the answer as well, the pause measured by the thuds of their hearts – slow, heavy, ominous – _one – two – three_ … He forgets to breathe, until her lips close over his mouth – _five_ – and breathe in – _six_ – her fingers gentle on his jaw – _seven…_ The sweetest voice in his ear:

“ _This is not the end. Never an end. We don’t have an end_ …”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it. After an 8 month hiatus (almost the length of a pregnancy) I am finally sitting down to finish this story.  
> I apologize for the sappy ending. I guess I needed it for myself, so here you go.  
> Thank you to everyone who refused to give up and kept hope.  
> You know who you are.  
> Until next time.  
> xx  
> me  
> <3


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